


Solace

by Emibug



Category: South Park
Genre: Demons, Haunting, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Ouija, Slow Burn, Spiritual, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emibug/pseuds/Emibug
Summary: Philip Pirrup is an unpopular orphan. He struggles to connect with his peers who once bullied him.There was a boy though, once. Someone he'd connected with immediately. But he's gone, and now Philip feels like a husk with a polite mask on.That is, until he comes in contact with a strange Ouija board.





	1. Keep Smiling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic! I hope you like it. Feedback would be wonderful, please and thank you!

Philip picked at the bland cafeteria food in front of him, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. The mashed potatoes crumbled beneath the pressure of his fork, coagulated gravy staying in place as the dry walls of the small mound fell. Disgusting. The meatloaf looked no better. It resembled spam with ketchup squirted across it in a crooked line.

"Hey, what's the matter, Pip?" Asked the bright-eyed blond beside him. Philip sighed at the nickname- it had been given to him gradeschool and stuck. It was unfortunate; the British boy was quite fond of his birthname. It came from his late father, and it was all Philip had left of him. When he didn't reply, the chipper voice continued, "Ya sure are sighing a lot!" To emphasize his point, he imitated Pip with an exaggerated sigh of his own.

Philip shook his head, his blond locks tickling his ears where they grazed. His hair was pulled into a high ponytail-'like a girl', according to his peers. Regardless, he quite liked the style; he enjoyed having long hair, but he tended to pull it back. It brought attention to his slim, soft, yet distinctly masculine features.

He turned to his companion, finally speaking in his signature British accent. "I'm quite alright, thank you Leo," he said politely, "just lost in thought." He returned his attention to his lunch, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Deciding he wasn't that hungry, he stood and carried the tray to the dumpster.

When he returned to the table, a new face was sat there. "Hey, bio-buddy!" Chirped a tall, stunning blonde in a cheerleading uniform. Philip never understood why the cheer squad was required to wear such revealing outfits on gameday. Then again, no one seemed to be complaining. The outgoing girl had imprinted on Philip when they'd been paired up for a project in the first week of biology, and he hadn't been able to shake her since.

"Hello, Bebe. Are you excited for the pep rally?" He inquired, feigning interest out of courtesy. The Brit himself found the ritual quite jarring. He understood the enthusiasm; his peers releasing a full schoolday's worth of pent up energy. It was simply a bit too overwhelming for his tastes.

As expected, she lit up. "It's gonna be a good one!" She proclaimed, lacing her fingers together with delight. "We convinced Kenny to dress as the other team's mascot, and we're gonna shoot silly string and pies filled with whipped cream at him!"

_How boorish_. Pip thought, concealing his disdain with a smile. "That sounds brilliant. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend." He winced preemptively, aware that a Bebe fit was brewing.

As anticipated, both Butters and Bebe gasped. "What?!" The cheerleader exclaimed, hands pressed to her cheeks in horror. "But it's homecoming!" Butters simply blinked his wide, crystal-blue eyes at the Brit.

Pip held his hands up defensively, backing away. "There's a new shipment coming in today, and Pops needs help setting up." He explained, steadily gathering his things. Bebe was pouting, and looked distinctly as though she were on the cusp of pelting Philip with reasons why he should go. "I'd best be off to class, cheerio!" He nodded to his fellow blonds before they could interject. He began to walk away; not too fast as to seem like he was running away, but swift enough to get out of there.

The school day was a slow blur of notes, lectures, and muffled gossip. Philip kept his head down, held his books close, and avoided eye contact. Every now and then he'd spot a friendly face, and he flashed them a smile and a half wave.

When the final bell rang, Philip gathered his things at lightning speed, scurrying out the door in a rush. As he rounded the corner to his locker he crashed into something large, fleshy, and angry.

"Watch where you're going, Frenchie!" Philip winced again. Another nickname he hadn't been able to shake from grade school. Most students would realize that Philip was, in fact, British; and that calling him French was offencive. One student, however, refuse to treat anyone with the slightest respect. That student was..

"Cartman." Philip said curtly, "can we not today? I'm honestly in a hurry." He ducked past the larger freshman, rushing part before the confrontation could escalate. He didn't look behind him to see the bully react to being brushed off; but he could only assume Eric's fragile ego hadn't handled it well.

Philip jogged down the street, holding his messenger bag down against his side, ponytail swinging side to side with his gait. He arrived, breathless, at the dusty book shop run by a kindly widower Philip had become friends with. It had formerly been only a used bookstore, but since Mr. Howard had hired Philip, they'd expanded to selling the more niche books and things one couldn't find at a conventional book store. Their eclectic collection drew an interesting crowd. In particular, Philip had become acquainted with the Goths. He rather enjoyed their quiet company, and had picked up smoking from hanging around them during his breaks.


	2. Keep smiling pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding chapter 2 as well for a better flow <3

Upon entering the building, he bid the shopkeeper a cheerful, "good day, Mr. Howard!" The middle aged man was visible via his shoulders and shock of white hair just above the rows of books. A bespectacled face popped up from behind the mahogany structure, cheeks rosey with delight at his employees arrival.

"Philip! A sight for sore eyes as always. Or, a sore back at least." He chuckled mildly, and the amber-eyed boy gave him a warm smile. He approached, gently setting a slender hand on the older man's back.  
  
"Why don't you go have a seat, sir. I'm sure there's plenty that needs to be catalogued. I'll do the unpacking. is this the whole shipment?" he asked, eyeing the stack of three large boxes. The one on the top had been neatly cut open. He peered inside, eyes glinting with curiousity when he spotted what certainly weren't books. There were candles, as well as flasks with ornate enclosures. The uncanny prickle of energy ghosting across his psyche elevated his curiosity on the contents of the boxes below. He looked to his employer, who was easing himself into the chair at his desk.  
  
Mr. Howard met Phillips gaze with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "Those occult kids are keeping me in business. I figure, why not cater to our demographic? Been thinkin bout selling coffee. reckon you're any good as a barista? Or know someone?" At the incredulous look the old man received, a good-natured laugh rumbled in his chest. "I've cleared the space beside the window for or new section. make it look good, yeah?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Pip responded, beginning to unpack the items. Candles, incense, herbal sachets and soaps: basic stuff. Mysterious vials whose contents he'd rather not ponder. Dragons blood? What on earth could that be? At the bottom of the box were various stones intermixed despite coming in a divided display. Sorting those would be a task. For now, he set everything in the table and shelves Mr Howard had prepared before approaching the remaining two boxes.  
  
Phillip picked up the box cutter Mr Howard had set aside. He opened it; following a few satisfying clicks of the blade, he slid it carefully through the packing tape. The top of the package opened with a crack. The smell of books wafted from the contents; he breathed deeply in appreciation. Hefting the first large tome he brushed a few cardboard shavings from the embossed cover. A vaguely familiar symbol spanned the hardback, and he ran his fingers along the network of circles absently. There was no title. When he turned to place the book beside him, he could feel a soft tingling on the pads of his fingertips once the book had been put on display.  
  
Continuing to unpack box two, a neat stack of slim, identical books came bound together. He untied the strip of burlap and read the title; Book of Shadows. They had a similar, yet simplified version of the symbol that lacked the magnetic quality that urged him to touch it. Next came a few Pagan and Occult pamphlets and zines. Beneath those were three wooden slabs that were unmistakably ouija boards.  
  
When he picked up the one on top, the planchette slid nearly to the floor when he moved to set it atop the pile. He felt that tingling energy coming from it as well. _how bizarre_ , he thought to himself as he set the board and planchette aside. Two boards remained in the box, neatly packaged together with shrink wrap and a handwritten label.  Now, why had the first one been packed loose? Phillip shrugged it off and set the now-empty box atop the first. Only one box remained, and his attention was pulled from reaching for the box cutters by the soft tinkle of the bell indicating a customers arrival.

It was Pete, easily identified by the fire-engine red streaks in his hair. The harsh light glinted against the artificial pigment and caught Phillip's eye. In his distraction, his hand slipped. The sharp blade he had been dragging across the final box sank into his thumb. With a yelp of pain, he stuck the bleeding digit into his mouth on instinct. The coppery taste invaded his senses, and his mind clouded with long-buried memories.

"Damn, Cheerio. Didn't think you were the masochistic type." Pete said, approaching the bleeding boy to look through the shipment. The goth kids had their own nickname for Philip. Cheerio. Get it, cuz he's British. Admittedly he preferred that one to Frenchie and other... Unsavory monikers his peers had dubbed him with. Still, he failed to see what made Philip so hard to say. He wordlessly looked at Pete, thumb in his mouth and tears in his eyes like a child. The older boy stared at him blankly for a moment, then laughed. 

"You really are cute. You sure you're not gay?" He asked, rocking his weight to one side and folding his arms as he admired the pouting blonde. When the goth moved, the planchette clattered to the floor, causing them both to jump. "Shit, my bad, I didn't even feel it?" He phrased the statement as a question, unsure if he'd even touched it.  
  
"Ouija boards, cards, and book of shadows? That's some normie starter-level occult shit." He criticized with an amused smirk, then bent to pick up the piece that had fallen. "You know they make these things as kids toys?" Waving the planchette a bit for emphasis, he said, "Summon the devil with Fisher Price! Comes in pink for the girlies." this elicited a chuckle from Philip, and Pete smiled at him.

"I think its quite progressive of Pops to take his customers into consideration. It makes sense, business-wise." He reasoned. "This shop has something special.. Hard to find in a judgmental podunk town like this one." He grinned back at the goth, examining his still heavily bleeding thumb.

"You go doctor yourself up, Cheerio. I come here enough to know where this stuff'll go." At Pete's words, Phillip nodded enthusiastically and rushed to the storage room to retrieve a bandage. As he passed, however, the planchette fell once again, plopping down right at Philips feet. The two boys exchanged a concerned look. "You were nowhere near that. I saw you. The fuck?" He knelt in front of Philip to pick it up. As the goth rose, their eyes met once they were level, and the two were suspended in that instant, a silent affirmation that some small impossibility had occurred. Pete straightened up and leaned over the board, looking it over with his brow creased in concentration.

Philip watched as Pete began to lightly run the planchette across the board then pause, fingertips hovering just above the carved tool. He seemed to be searching for something, but it would seem he didn't find it. He wondered if Pete could be searching for that strange vibration the brit had felt before. Suddenly a question bubbled up in Philips mind, and before he had thought it through he asked:

 "Can you really summon the devil with those things? Or talk to the supernatural?”


	3. Dragon's Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip and Pete share a cigarette.

Pete nodded gravely. "Not everyone can, and most who do get themselves into deep shit. It's not gonna be Satan himself, but it's definitely possible to contact demons and some spirits." He gave Phillip a serious look, "you're better off keeping your distance, hun. I don't wanna hear about you trying to talk to your parents and having your pure, sweet soul stolen by some demon. They're in a better place, not lingering around and suffering. Demons will lie and tell you they're someone they're not. It's best to let the dead lie."

The thought of contacting his parents hadn't occurred to him, actually. He was nonetheless touched by Pete's concern. "I'll remember that. Thanks." With that, he nodded to Pete and padded off to the storage room to patch up his wound. 

Upon Philips return, the products had all been neatly arranged, boxes stacked by the door. Mr Howard was asleep in his chair, and Pete stood near the entryway. When they made eye contact, he tilted his head, indicating that they step outside to share a cigarette. Pip obliged, following the goth out into the October chill. 

A cigarette was in Phillips face the moment he stepped outside. With a start, he gave the goth who was already smoking a disapproving look. Nonetheless he accepted the offer, also taking the lighter and reluctantly lighting it. Cigarettes weren't exactly pleasant, but Phillip seem to be able to cope with his anxiety better since he picked up the habit. As he took a drag, he examined the bandage on his thumb. Already a dark spot was forming at the center, clearly he'd failed at stopping the bleeding. Still, it reminded him of another glint of red that caught his eye that day. significant things come in threes, right? The curiosity burned his mind, and he spoke up.

"what's dragon's blood?" asked the blond through a mouth full of smoke. He looked at Pete with wide eyes, and the goth blinked rapidly before turning away, cheeks dusting pink in what Phillip assumed to be the Autumn chill.

"I think it's just scented ink or something nowadays, but it's supposed to be tree sap.” Philip blinked at him curiously and Pete pulled out his phone, typing dragon tree sap in images. He showed the blonde the results, scrolling for him a bit. "Their sap looks like blood and has magical properties. It's pretty goth.” Philip nodded in agreement, staring at the photos with a perplexed expression. It was only sap but it looked so gorey. Memories and emotions stirred in his chest and he leaned away, dragging on the cigarette again. Pete eyed him. "Why do you ask?" 

Philip tipped his head to one side in contemplation, his ponytail sliding over to tickle his cheek. He shook his head lightly and then offered Pete a shrug and a smile, "it caught my eye, is all. It's a pretty bottle. A true, deep red is quite a breathtaking rarity." As he spoke, it occurred to him that he had developed fixation on the ruby tone, the blood... what was his gut trying to tell him? Why were unpleasant, unhelpful memories surfacing? Philip bit his lip, tucking his thumb into the palm of his hand to stop himself from staring at it. Blood. Fire. Demons. That board and it's jumpy planchette. This was all sending eerily familiar vibes.  

The Brit was pulled from his stupor when a soft hand cupped his shoulder. He looked at Pete in surprise, but the goth simply nodded toward the cigarette in his hand. It had burnt close to where Pips fingers were, a tube of ash precariously clinging to the end. 

"You okay, Cheerio?' Asked the concerned senior. With a quick shake, Philip decluttered his mind and smiled at Pete again. 

"Right-o! Terribly sorry for wasting your fag. Er--" Philip turned bright red as soon as the word slipped from his lips. "--cigarette! I.. I meant.." His voice faded awkwardly. Pete was laughing his ass off, forearm pressed to the side of the building to hold himself up. Philip scowled, taking the last few puffs from the butt of the cigarette before flicking it precisely into the ashtray 

"Nice Shot." Pete said, dropping his own spent cigarette on to the ground and stepping on it. He pretended not to notice the disdain on the Brits face. As he passed, he plopped a hand covered with a black fingerless glove on to Phillips head. He gave the boy a wink, and began to shuffle aimlessly from the parking lot. His only farewell was, "pops could probably use your help. I'll see you later Cheerio. Be careful." 

His tone grew sincere at the end, genuine concern flashing in his dark-rimmed eyes. Philip waved and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your continued patronage!" He called, and got an idle hand held in the air by the departing boy as a response. 


	4. Spookums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip is getting unwanted attention
> 
> Title is temporary till I think of a better one.

Philip sighed and walked back into the store, though he couldn't see Mr. Howard. Perhaps he had chosen to take a break in the supply room? There was a TV in there. He took a look around him, admiring the orderly store he considered something close to home. The one thing out of place was the unpackaged Ouija board. I was out on the shelf where he had last seen it. How peculiar, he thought. He picked up the board and mysterious hopping planchette, then stacked them neatly atop the others on the display shelf.

Without further incident, Philip finished up his work and bid the kindly old man farewell. It was already getting dark by the time the young blonde stepped out into the street. Snow drifted lazily down to form a soft pile dusted across South Park. He stopped to admire it, eyes lifting to the sky to watch the shadows of snowflakes fall right into his face. Naturally, he got snow in his eye and stopped looking up, rubbing his eye.

“You still out there, my boy? Oh, it's snowing eh. You need a ride home?” Mr. Howard had approached and opened the door when he noticed Philip lingering just outside. He smiled at his employer and shook his head.

“No sir. Thank you very much, but I can handle it. You be careful heading home. Stay warm.” He reached out to touch Mr. Howard's forearm as he spoke.

The elder clapped a hand on Philips shoulder in return, a grin spread on his face at how compassionate his little friend was. “Alright, son. Don't be afraid to ask if you ever need a little help. I've got a few things to do before I head out, so I gotta get back in there. You be careful too.”

Philip nodded enthusiastically, and Mr. Howard shut the door with the soft tinkle of the bell. The blonde began his trek home, still awash in wonder at the sparkling snow. Sure, he saw it every winter. But when it first falls it is quite enchanting. Strangely, he didn't feel all that cold either. In fact, his coat specifically felt quite warm. He supposed that's how a coat is supposed to feel, but it seemed a bit odd. 

His walk was peaceful, silent. The falling snow muffled any sound, and Philip hummed quietly. The sound of his own voice seemed to get swallowed up by the void. When he arrived at the dingy apartment where he lived, he sighed and braced himself, before kicking the snow off of the porch to pry the frozen door open. Where he lived was a foster home of sorts. Perhaps orphanage would be more accurate. it was basically the government owned complex where unwanted wards of the state collect dust. He didn't mind though. The others picked on him occasionally, but mostly they each kept to themselves. Having a little space of his own was something he was grateful for. Still, as he peeled off a few layers of clothing, he couldn't help but reflect on how lonely he felt. No matter how many people were around Philip, he couldn't seem to connect with anyone in that effortless way his peers seemed to. Was it because he was British? Or perhaps he was strange for being an orphan.

Shutting the door and kicking off his boots, he hung his coat up in the closet. A weight in one of the pockets caught his attention, and he reached in to see what it was. The planchette. The same one that seemed to have a mind of its own in the store. This was getting a bit frightening. He definitely didn't stick it in his pocket. He knew he'd set it down atop the board it belonged to. How had it hitched a ride home with him. Was someone messing with him?

He turned, gaze darting around the familiar room. “Alright, you've spooked me. Was that your goal? You can stop now. Please.” He spoke clearly and with purpose, though he was pretty sure he was alone. Strangely, that notion was both comforting and disquieting.

“Shut the fuck up, Freenchie!” Called a younger boy a few doors down. “Yeah, or at least keep it down when you're talking to yourself!” a girl around his age added. Phillip ignored them, simply locking his door and sitting on his bed. he examined the planchette, turning it over in his hands. it looked like same ones that came with every Ouija. He sighed and set it down, then picked up the book he'd been working on this week and settled into bed. He had trouble focusing, however. The foreign object in his room had some magnetic quality that kept pulling his eyes back to it, curiosity aching inside of him.

When he finally gave up, he set the book on his nightstand and rolled over. Sleep came with time, and his dreams reminded him of that damn board over and over, with a few people he knew sporadically making appearances and saying strange things. Bebe was cheering like at the games, but it sounded like she spoke in tongues. Pete stood with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. when Philip approached, he turned and looked at him. Simultaneously, the cigarette in his mouth burst into flames which consumed the taller boy. He could see Kenny through the flames somehow, pain in his eyes as he reached for Philip.


	5. Spookums pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get spookier and Philip gets caught with his pants down.

The days following were the weekend, and Philip spent every day at his job, happily chatting with Mr. Howard as well as the customers. He placed the hitchhiking planchette back on the display where it belonged, but throughout the whole weekend it continued to do strange things. Following him from room to room, somehow finding its way to his home. Mr. Howard found it quite funny and blamed fae, but Philip couldn't help but feel it was personal. 

The final straw was Sunday, when he was using the restroom at his home, and his gaze fell abruptly to the whole Ouija board. It sat neatly at his feet with the planchette pointing to ‘hello’. Philip screamed, nearly falling from his porcelain seat.

“What in the bloody fucking Hell!” He exclaimed, causing the voices of his neighbors to laugh hysterically. He slammed the door open, casting an accusatory look at the small group hanging out in the hallway. “Are you the ones who have been messing with me?!” He demanded. The girls in the hall were covering their eyes and mouths, and Philip quickly realized his pants still hung at his feet. He blushed, but clenched his hands into fists and glared around indiscriminately.

“We didn't do shit, Pip. Put your pants on.” Everyone laughed, and Philips blush deepened. He pulled up his pants and slammed the door shut, giving the Ouija board a halfhearted kick that sent the planchette spinning and bumping into the tub like a beyblade. 

“Fine. You win. I'm gonna put you in my room and you're gonna stay there. Okay?” he spoke to the seemingly inanimate object, then went to wash his hands and recover his dignity before scooping up the offending board and storming off to his room. He tossed the board itself onto the bed and sat, examining the planchette again. 

This time, he looked inside the eye bit, and noticed some type of rune burnt into The wood on the inside. Had someone put a spell or charm onto it. Ugh, what was he even thinking? This sounded ridiculous. Then again… It was ridiculous. He sighed and placed the intruder on top of his dresser, then picked up his book. He was almost finished with it.

After about an hour of reading, a strange urge to check on the Ouija board overcame him, and he shifted his gaze from the final pages of the book to the dresser he'd set it on. It.. wasn't there. Let me guess. He thought dully, glancing beside him on the bed. Naturally, there it was. Mocking him. He rolled his eyes and went back to his book, determined to absorb the ending in spite of the stupid plaything.

As he lay in bed that night, his thoughts were a spiral of half-buried memories. Being bullied as a kid, being more subtly bullied now. Making a friend… A real friend he didn't have to fake being polite to talk to. Flames and demons and death. He was sweating now, breaths coming in more heavily. Why was his chest so heavy? He rolled to his side, curling up in the fetal position. He opened his eyes, and of course, on his nightstand sat the damned board. 

“Fuck off.” He hissed to it, swiping it off of the surface and ignoring the loud noise it made when it hit the floor. He covered his head with a pillow, tears brimming in his amber eyes. He was seeing red. Glittering like rubies, the dragons blood, Petes hair.. Damien. He felt his heart lurch when the name manifested in his mind, and adrenaline muffled the world around him. Those red eyes piercing his. The dark figure who, even briefly, stood by his side. Philip hid beneath his comforter, willing this episode to end.

Someone must have heard his plea because, mercifully, he drifted off. Images of a dark haired little boy haunted his dreams.


	6. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip reflects on recent events. Something is missing, and he's missing something.

Philip groggily dragged himself to school the following Monday. The Ouija board seemed to be satisfied to haunt his room, because thankfully it didn't follow him to school. Still, thoughts of it persisted. What could it mean? Why was this happening? And why.. Why did he keep thinking about Damien? After all these years, why now?

By the time Philip blinked out of his haze he was at his desk, staring blankly ahead. He couldn't even remember walking to class and sitting down. He frowned at the outdated chalkboard, white letters and numbers seeming to switch places before his eyes. He looked down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, disappointed that he hasn't at least taken notes. The bell rang, causing him to cringe outwardly. Off to a rough start, this week. 

Walking through the halls, he couldn't help but feel a sort of absence. Like someone who should be there wasn't. He couldn't help but picture his old friend, dark hair, red eyes, sharp features among their peers. The idea that, if he were here, Philip wouldnt feel so alone. 

Like a zombie, the Brit moved toward the cafeteria, stomach already clenching in protest, alerting him to his lack of appetite. Like clockwork, Butters appeared beside him as he crossed the entryway. “Howdy Pip!” he greeted in the same exact tone he'd had Friday. Philip cringed again in surprise, then nodded to the blonde.

“Greetings, Leo.” He said lightly, offering him a halfhearted smile.

“What's up? You seem spaced today.” Curse Butters for being so perceptive and insisting on being a good friend. Pip shook his head, but before he could answer, a pair of  slender arms wound across both Butters and Phillips shoulders.

“Hey guys! Good to see you both!” Bebe called, squeezing the two. Philip struggled to free himself from her grasp as subtly as he could, a bit uncomfortable with the unsolicited contact. “The blonde brigade is almost complete! Well, except Kenny.”

Philip perked at that, some hidden knowledge stirring in his gut as they approached the line. Kenny wasn't here..? He blinked rapidly as the image of Damien In His mind flickered from the noirette to the aforementioned blonde, his dreams from the weekend resurfacing. “Kenny isn't here? Where is he?”

“Idunno, but if you see him tell him I'm pissed at him! He promised he'd be at the pep ralley and he ghosted. Pip, are you okay?”

Philip had blanched at the word _ghost_ , and a shiver ran up his spine at Bebes prompting. “Yeah, sorry.” He mumbled, the three of them carrying their trays of sub-par gruel to their table. Kenny.. Kenny wasn't here. had that been the sensation Philip had picked up on whisky roaming the halls? If so, had he simply mistaken it for his recent fix at on on memories of Damien? Were the two connected somehow? Philip rubbed his temples, a tension headache beginning to form.

Philip pushed through the rest of the day, ready to get out of there and get to the bottom of this. He had questions, and he knew where to get answers. The warning Pete had given him lingered in his mind. to justify blowing off his wise words, Philip reasoned that the board was messing with him, not the other way around. When the final bell mercifully rang, he gathered his things swiftly and made his way out of the building with a purpose firmly set in his mind. 

He arrived at Pop's store in record time, breathing heavily when he pushed the door open. Mr. Howard looked at him and smiled. “You know you don't work today, right son? I appreciate the enthusiasm--” he trailed off when he saw the look in his young friends eyes, and he eased himself off of his chair to approach the young man. “What can I do for you, son?”

“Did those Ouija boards come with instructions?” He asked, gesturing to the new occult section. Mr Howard followed his gaze, and his eyebrows raised in interest.

“Not the boards themselves, no. But I think I do have what you're looking for.” He shambled over to the section in question, running his wrinkled hand along the shelf until he found the book he was looking for, pulling it out and offering it to Philip. “Go ahead and take it. No charge.” He smiled.

While the Brit would normally have protested the old man giving away his product, he took it silently this time. He looked at the hardcover book Mr. Howard had placed in his hand and ran his fingers along the letters embossed on the cover.

Ouija .


	7. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip finally gets in touch with the other side

Philip sat on the floor of his bedroom, cross-legged with the book he had borrowed from his employer propped up on his knees. The ouija board and planchette were neatly arranged in front of him. He flipped through the book, reading the warnings and proper procedure. After several minutes of reading he sighed, and set the book aside. _May as well just go for it._

Beneath the Ouija book in his lap sat a simple composition notebook. He opened it to the first page, and shifted his position until he sat on his knees, taking a few steadying breaths. A lit candle flickered beside him, adding to the heavy atmosphere. Gently placing his hand on the planchette, he pushed it over to the ‘hello’ corner. 

“H-hello?” The blonde asked, nerves eliciting a stutter. Nothing happened, and he frowned and moved the planchette back to the center. “Hello. I know you're there.” He said firmly, “you've been messing with me for a while. Are you gonna answer me or not?” He asked, crossing his arms in irritation.

The candle suddenly went out, causing Philip to jump and turn to look at it. The light was on in his room, so he could still see just fine. He looked back at the board to see the planchette had moved, and was now pointing to YES. He gasped, quickly picking up the notebook to write it down. No one would believe him, but at least he'd have something solid to hang onto this way, if he writes things down.

“Who are you?” He demanded, leaning forward on his hands to look at the board. His blonde hair fell into his face, and he nearly missed the planchette moving when he paused to tuck the lock behind his ear. G. He stared, eyes wide, as the wooden piece moved on its own. U-E-S-S. Guess. Really. Philip let out a frustrated grunt.

“If you're going to be like that I'm putting you away.” He quipped, beginning to pick up the board and make good on his threat. The planchette began to spin wildly, causing Philip to flinch away in surprise. It pointed to NO, and he huffed. “Alright, then.” he plopped back down, crossing his legs again.

“Is this Damien?” He asked, throat nearly closing around the name. he bit his lip and stared in anticipation as the piece seemed to quiver, as though uncertain. Finally, it slowly dragged itself to YES. Philip felt dizzy, and quickly transcribed the conversation into his notebook. The planchette was nearly dancing now, and Philip felt apprehension broil in his gut.

“How do I know it's you?” He nearly whispered, leaning close to the board. It began to spell something out, and Philip felt color rise to his cheeks and amusement bubble up in his chest when the word was complete. Not so much a word, but a nickname. One they had shared as children. Fartboy.

For the first time in a long time, Philip let out a genuine laugh. It rang like bells in the empty space of his room, and he took a moment to collect himself. “It _is_ you.” He breathed, fingertips trailing along the carved wood. “I.. Didn't think I'd get to speak with you again.” But the board sat still, and Philip wondered if that was all he was going to get out of it. 

For several minutes the blonde sat staring at the still board, until a massive yawn overtook him. Oh dear, was it that late? He still needed to shower. As the book had instructed, he pushed the planchette to the goodbye corner, closing communication for the night and putting his things away.

His dreams that night were dark, still, and quiet.

 


	8. Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an orphan living in a state home is tough. Nothing is really yours, and no one respects you.
> 
> Now, Philip has something that is only his.

Philip went to school the next day giddy, the sensation of having a secret all to himself filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment. He had made contact with the other side, and no one knew. Hed only gotten a short reply from Damien, but he was going to try again tonight!

He spaced out all day, and lunch time snuck up on him. As he headed toward the cafeteria, he spotted none other than Kenny McCormick standing at his locker. He looked a bit pale. “‘Ello, Kenny! How are you?”

Kenny jumped, slamming his locker shut in surprise. He took a deep, steadying breath, then laughed at himself. “Hey there, Philip. Sorry, ya caught me lost in thought.”

“Oh, I can certainly relate. My head has been in in outer space all day. Have you been ill or something?” Phillip tried to hide the blush when Kenny used his real name. He didn't recall Kenny calling him Philip before, but it was lovely to hear.

Kenny scratched his neck distractedly, “ Something like that. Look, Philip, you..” He broke off, as if unsure how to say something. Philip tipped his head to one side, and Kenny smiled at him. “you're real cute, you know that?”

Philip flushed again, hand pressed against his chest. “Wh-I.. I've been told that before, but I fail to see..” He trailed off when he saw Kenny's eyes widen in horror. He turned around to see what was so frightening, and it was Bebe Stevens.

“MCCORMICK.” Bebe exclaimed, storming over. “You ruined the pep rally last week! What's your damage?”

“Gotta go, Pip” Kenny grinned at Philip while patting him on the head. “Good talking to ya. I like your hair pulled back, by the way. You're adorable.” Bebe was quickly closing the distance between them, and Kenny winked at him before fleeing in the opposite direction.

Philip stared after the quarreling blondes, the clamor dying down and leaving the Brit in a silent reverie. So it's back to Pip, huh. He'd likely never escape that nickname. Still it was good to see Kenny back in the hallways, vicarious as ever. He worried about him, secretly, when he disappeared for days, sometimes weeks. No one else seemed to think much of it. South Park was a strange town. 

**~ . ~ . ~**

When Philip arrived home, he wasted no time in unloading his school bag, kicking off his shoes and pulling the Ouija board from its spot on his shelf. The planchette took some searching, but he finally found it underneath his bed. He lit candles, as he had before, and opened up his composition notebook. He would keep a record of this; something tangible. No one would believe him, but he didn't need them to. Not when he had this. This respite from the monotony. This connection he'd been missing. 

He perched in front of the board, taking a deep breath. Lithe fingertips rested upon the polished wood, and he began to gently slide it back and forth, before landing on _hello_.

“Damien?” He whispered. The board shook, causing the boy to flinch away in surprise. It stilled, as though hesitating, before the planchette slowly began to move. It circled the board before pointing to _hello_. Philip beamed, clasping his hands together with delight. “Damien! I have so much to ask you. I- you-- I mean. Ah. Hey.” He felt his pale features flush as he realized he wasn't sure exactly where to begin. The planchette began to move before he could formulate a sentence. 

**L O L**

Philip gaped at the board in confusion. “What?? What's so funny?”

**U R B L U S H I N G**

He froze. “H-how do you know that? Can you see me?”

**D U H**

The blonde sat mute, feeling rather stupid. He rubbed his arms, chill bumps rising on his skin, before remembering his notebook and writing this down.

“N-nevermind that. Damien, how are you? Are you in Hell? Is that where you've been all this time?” The planchette slid across the board again, pointing to yes. Philip nodded in understanding. “How come you never came back? Are you.. perhaps, trapped?” Again, the wooden piece spun before stopping on. Yes. “Why?” He asked, before patiently waiting as his unseen companion spelled out a reply.

**P U N I S H M E N T**

Hazel eyes widened in surprise at that. Punishment for what? Was he being tortured? Or was he just.. Grounded? As Philip puzzled over this, he noticed that the chill bumps on his skin were growing more pronounced. Was.. The temperature dropping? He shuddered, pressing onward despite a sinking feeling in his gut telling him to back away. He shook himself, and insisted upon keeping this channel to his long-lost friend open. “I.. I wanted to tell you that I've missed you. Our talks. And.. And if you're really trapped, maybe we could.. Talk this way.” he rubbed at his gooseflesh, waiting for a response. But one never came.

Instead, the room suddenly grew darker, candles snuffing out simultaneously. the board rattled loudly on the floor, and Philip covered his ears against the offending noise. When things settled, he saw that the planchette now pointed to _goodbye_.

Was this.. A rejection? Sitting in the dark, quiet room it certainly felt that way. Or.. Perhaps something had happened? Surely Damien wouldn't have replied at all if he didn't still want to be friends. No, something must have interrupted them. Philip stood, quickly moving to flick the lightswitch to banish the gloomy atmosphere. He'd try again tomorrow, then. For now, it was best he get showered and find something to eat that the other kids hadn't gotten to first. 

After rummaging in the kitchen for a while, he'd found half a box of stale Lucky Charms that had been overlooked by the other wards, and he sat in bed halfheartedly eating what he could, pondering the conversation, if one could call it that. What on earth could the son of Satan have done to warrant punishment? And.. He could see him. Could he see him all the time, or just when he used the board? The questions were beginning to make him uncomfortable, so he sat the box aside and laid down to try and get some sleep. One thing stood out to the brit, once he had settled in.

He'd made Damien laugh.


	9. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip can't seem to fully open up to anyone. With how much he gets bullied, can you truly blame him?

“I-I'm terribly sorry, miss--”

“The fuck is your problem, French turd? You got my hair wet!” the upperclassman grabbed Philip by the fabric of his shirt, slamming him into the lockers beside them. Philips head bounced off the metal surface, causing his ears to ring. He whimpered, wrapping his hands around Shelley’s wrist in a silent plea for her to release him. 

“I didn't see you, it wasn't intentional! You were leaning over the drinking fountain and I couldn't see you!” he managed to wriggle free, and once the angry girl had released him she balled her hand into a fist. Philip flinched, shielding his face when a familiar voice sounded behind the bully.

“Shelley, what the fuck. Stop being a cunt just because you're hungover.” it was Stan and Kyle. The redheaded boy pulled Philip away from Stan's sister, while the noirette got between them. “are you okay?”

Philip grimaced, none too pleased about being saved by even more of his former bullies. He frowned, pulling away from Kyle's touch. Before either Philip or Shelley had a chance to react, another pair of students approached the group. Philip felt himself relax with relief when he saw the black-clad newcomers.

“Do you have a fucking problem, conformist?” Henrietta hissed, getting in Shellys face. She bore her teeth at the goth, showing her unclean braces. Pete took Philip by the hand, pulling him away from the super best friends. This time the blonde willingly stood behind the taller boy. Pete glared at Kyle, “keep your normie hands off my friend.”

“Why are we being treated like the bad guys here? I'm the one who stopped Shelley!” Stan whined.

“Fuck you, thats why” Pete sneered.

“Fuck all of you. Y'all give me a damn headache” Shelley groaned, stalking away from the group with a hand pressed  to her forehead.

“oh yeah, its us and not the booze. C’mon Philip. Lets blow this joint and smoke one. A joint, I mean .” Henrietta said when Philip gave her a curious look, ignoring Stan and Kyle entirely and gesturing for her friends to follow. Pete moved to join her, and Philip paused.

“My classes, though..” he murmured. At Pete's raised eyebrow, he shook himself. Fuck it. He followed the Goths out of the  hallway, and subsequently joined them in Henrietta's house,

\---

“... Then they showed me some music that I swear wouldn't have been good if we hadn't smoked, but it was  _ so _ good. It sounded like it might have been about you! Prince of Darkness, spawn of Beezlebub.” he softly hummed the tune to the death metal song as he recounted the lyrics to his unseen friend. Damien seemed to pause and absorb Philips story, then the planchette slowly began to move .

**Ur still bullied**

Philip frowned. “yeah, but not as bad! It think it's just my lot in life to be picked on; at least now there's people who stand up for me.. And someone who cares.” he added, a bit bashfully.

**Gay** .

He found himself gently laughing at that. Damien was such a card sometimes. “what about you? What do you do all day?”

**Jack Shit**

“that sounds dreadful. Do you have any idea how long you're stuck in Hell?” the planchette moved to  _ no _ . Phillip  sighed. “I certainly  hope you're freed soon. Whatever you may have done surely can't justify being imprisoned  for so long. You deserve to live your life.” the planchette slid to  _ yes _ , and Philip chuckled  wryly, “not much we can do about it eh? If I can help in some way just let  me know. Ill try.” again a response began to spell itself out, and Philip watched curiously.

**Don't forget**

He smiled. “forget you? Bullocks. Are you saying you want me to keep in touch?”  _  Yes _ . Philip yawned, stretching like a cat before replying, “that was the plan. I'm going to keep bothering you whether you like it or not, haha!” the planchette slid over to  _ goodbye _ and Phillip lifted his eyebrows with interest. “I suppose we're done talking then?” The silence that followed was enough of an answer for the Brit, so he began packing everything up and getting ready for bed.

“I never forgot you, Damien.” Philip murmured as he began to drift off in the darkness, he wondered if his demonic friend could hear him.

\---

Things felt good to Philip. Over the next few weeks he fell into a routine. People didn't mess with him as much in school now that they were receiving dirty looks from the goth kids, and once even Kenny smacked Cartman for calling Phillip a fag. The look on Eric's face had given the British boy a good chuckle when he relayed the scene to Damien later. The simple  _ lol _ he'd gotten in response was gratifying. The few times he had seen Damien smile had been like witnessing something extraordinary, like a double rainbow. He asked his friend if  he was smiling, and he must have been, because he had simply dodged the subject by calling him gay. Strange how it had been so offensive coming from the school bully, but it felt !ore like am affectionate jab coming from the board. perhaps Philip was only assigning the !eating he wanted to Damien’s words . Simple text could  be deceiving. But it brought Philip no end of co!fort knowing that no matter how crazy the day got he could always come back t0 the board and Damien would be there. He didn't think it was a trick, it didn't feel like one,

Work remained a respite for Philip, though things were changing  around the store. Mr Howard had made are good on his idea to open up a coffee shop in the store, utilizing the kitchen and recruiting a new employee, someone else who appreciated the quiet, isolated bookstore. Pete , their regular customer, had been the first choice, but apparently selling coffee was too conformist for the goth. Even though drinking it wasn't! So they reached out to someone with the experience and knowledge to keep a small coffee store running, Tweek Tweak.

“Thank you so much for joining my humble little work family. The pay may  not be the best but you'll be treated with respect and kindness.” Mr Howard told  Tweek. He'd heard about the Tweaks and how they used their son.

“Ngh- no thank you, sir! This will be way better than working for my fucking dad.” he rolled his eyes, then smiled at Philip. “ thanks for hooking me up with this job, Pip.”

Philip ducked his head, unsure how to respond with the blonde smiling at him so brightly. Tweek had always seemed a bit sickly due to his complexion and situation, but when he smiled it was like the sun emerging from pallid rainclouds. Such a sincere gesture intimidated Philip a bit, but he shyly smiled back and showed his new co-worker around. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Damien all about it.


	10. Peace and Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip doesn't care for all the noise.

Freshman year had seemed to drag endlessly before Philip got his hands on that ouija board, but ever since he had gained the presence of the closest thing he had to a childhood friend, time slipped through his fingers. He found that having a confidant at home like Damien, and journaling their conversations, had given him a sense of self-worth. His friendship with the goths flourished and the store became a haven for the misfits of South Park.Even Tweek turned out to be quite a nice chap once Philip got to know him. He’d also managed to strike up conversations with Kenny here and there. While Kenny seemed fond of everyone, Philip couldn’t help but feel like the mysterious boy had specific connection to  _ something _ that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was always dropping cryptic lines about being careful with the occult. Almost as though he knew what Philip was up to. But then the blue-eyed boy would grin and make some lighthearted comment, usually something flirty and sweet, and they would drop it.

As the semester drew to a close, the excitement of his peers was palpable. Philip didn’t really feel the same way. His summer would be the same as the school year, minus, well, school. Working at the bookstore, heading home. He’d probably hang out with some people, but socializing honestly wore out the Brit. Bebe seemed to have forgiven Kenny at some point, because one day he walked into the bathroom to find them making out. Philip had felt heat rise to his face and his belly twist at the sight of the two attractive teens going at it, and eased his way out before he could be noticed. Kenny did, though. Kenny notices everything. Philip knew he did, because the next time he saw him in the hall the taller boy had winked at him.

Two weeks before school ended, Philip walked into the cafeteria to see a crowd gathered, and at the center of it was Clyde Donovan, crying. Craig was halfheartedly patting him on the back, and Token stood to the side with a maternal look of concern on his face. Philip found himself backing away before he’d told his body to. He didn’t really associate with that group, and whatever it was, he hardly wanted to be involved. He backed straight into Kenny, who let out an  _ oof _ of surprise.   
  
“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry I-- Kenny. Hello, how are you feeling today?” Philip asked, unable to resist his natural inclination toward pleasantries.   
  


“Better than Clyde, looks like. Heh, I wonder if he’s crying because Bebe rejected him.”

“Oh, is that what this is about? Well, Bebe is with you isn’t she?” why,  _ why _ had he even asked. Drama was the farthest thing from Philip’s interests.

“Mmm, Bebe isn’t  _ with _ anyone. When you look that good, you kinda just do what you want. Clyde just doesn’t get that she’s not the commitment type. Not till she grows up and loses those looks. And those titties start to sag. Damn are they fantastic though. I don’t blame Clyde.” Kenny’s navy eyes glittered with amusement, and Philip shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, uh, I think that’s enough information for me. Thank you for filling me in, Kenny.” he offered him a smile, folding his arms behind his back as he began to back away. “Sorry again for bumping into you. I ought to get going though.. Get my unch in before the period is over.” with that, he fled the scene before he could be any more entangled in the drama. Kenny watched him go, a small smile on his face.

\--

Summer had just begun, and Philip had been invited to a  party at Token’s. He’d chosen not to go. He sat in his room that evening, talking to Damien about it. The invisible prince was quite curious as to why Philip didn’t want to attend, though it was simple from the Brit’s perspective.

“I honestly wouldn’t enjoy myself. It’s all I can handle to just go to school and work. If I had my way, I’d spend my life with only books and my writings as company.”

**And me.**

“Well yes, you as well. You’re not like the others though, Damien. And not just because you’re trapped in Hell and can’t stress me out.”

**I could stress you out**

“You certainly could! But you don’t, and I appreciate that.”

**you should go.**

“Why?” Philip asked indignantly. The ouija board grew still for a moment, before spelling out Damien’s reasons. Apparently he thought it would be  _ good _ for Philip to go out and be social. But that was exactly what the blond  _ didn’t _ want.  He liked things how they were. His sole confidant being Damien, and no one else needed to know anything about him. Most people use your personal information as ammunition; such as Philip being a foreigner(though which country he was from seemed to go over some people’s heads) and an orphan were regularly used as tools to torment him. Why would he want to be around people like that? No, he was just fine with the acquaintances he had. Things could stay like this forever, and he’d be perfectly content. 


	11. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip has a bad day

“Oh, you’re looking for Creative Writing class? That’s down the hall, room 218.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Philip bowed his head, trying to avoid the stares of the students sitting in the English classroom he’d walked into. Face pink, he backed out of the room, before hurrying in the direction the teacher had pointed him in. God, today was a disaster. This was the second time he’d gone to the wrong room. Nothing seemed to be going his way. 

As he passed by Kenny’s locker, he paused. Kenny was absent again today. It almost all seemed to be connected. A boy had stuck his foot out and tripped Philip in homeroom, and no one made a move to help him up. That’s when he had noticed that Kenny wasn’t there. He would have helped the poor Brit. Alas, Philip was alone in his suffering. He held his books close to his chest, the notebook he’d been keeping his conversations with Damien sat atop the stack, pressed to the boy’s chest. 

To Philip’s chagrin, class had already begun by the time he arrived. The teacher smiled and gestured for him to join the classroom. Desks were pushed in a circle, and Mr. Walters sat on the desk closest to the board, holding a book in his hands and seemed to be in the middle of an impassioned speech. He shyly approached, sitting next to Heidi Turner, who offered him a soft smile. He returned her gesture, then glanced around the room. Mostly girls. The only other boy was a freshman he didn’t recognize, with brown hair and freckles who was already scribbling something onto a simple sheet of notebook paper. This didn’t seem so bad, actually. Perhaps this would be a turning point in his day.

While the teacher seemed cool, the other girls in the room were quite clique-y and once he was done talking, separated in groups to work on the free-writing Mr. Walters had asked of them. The boy still hadn’t spoken, engrossed in his own writing, and when Philip glanced at Heidi’s paper. It was a poem, half-written, about love and loss. She had stopped writing and started adding stickers to the paper, decorating it. He turned to his own notebooks, a frown playing on his lips. For inspiration, he opened up his composition book and skimmed the conversations between himself and Damien over the summer. It was interesting. As time passed, he started to hear Damiens voice in his head as the board responded, which leant itself to smoother conversation. It was curious, however, that the voice that he heard wasn't the same high pitch he remembered. Damiens voice had deepened, which both made sense and didn't. was it truly Damien's voice, or was it a figment of Philips imagination? Was it possible to invent a voice you've never heard before? Regardless, Philip has kept a record of everything. He flipped open the book, turning to a particularly amusing conversation from mid-June. 

 _Ello Damien. I had the most interesting conversation with Tweek today._  

 **What did he say?**  

_He told me that there are creatures who live in South Park that no one can see, but when he drinks a lot of coffee he can see them!_

**The underpants gnomes?**

_Oh no not them. I've seen those things making off with my knickers. They have foul mouths!_  

 **Fuck you Pip why are you so British**  

 _Pardon? I_ am _British, haha._  

 **You're cute. Fuck you.**  

 _Oh my. Well, thank you. I'd return the compliment but.._  

 **You can't see me. Haha.**  

Philip smiled as he read that, remembering the tone in Damien's imagined voice. It had been childish and made him giggle. He flipped the page, glancing around to be sure no one could see the pink dusting his cheeks. 

The next few pages were casual conversations. He decided that he would write a short story. One about a boy who was bullied and unhappy. The boy puts on a brave face and smiles in the face of adversity, and when he gets home he finds solace in his imaginary friend. A ghost of someone he once knew. Once he'd written the outline and jotted down ideas, he realized how utterly obtuse he was being. But it's not like anyone would know where the story came from. Still, it began to sound too much like a cry for help. So he turned to a new page, and wrote a short poem about spring.

Spring in South Park was brief, the flowers barely finding the time to bloom once the snow had melted. The summer sun was quick to defeat Spring's efforts to fill the land with color. He paused thoughtfully. There were summer flowers too. He quite liked gardening, though there was nowhere outside of the orphanage suitable for plants. He grew things anyway, in pots in his windowsill. Damien likes flowers too, it turns out. He said they were a nice break from fire and brimstone. Hell must be quite boring. 

The bell rang, rousing Philip from his thoughts. He hopped up, turned in the poem he wasn't at all proud of, and moved to the next class. He prayed that the rest of his day would be peaceful. Around here, that would appear to be too much to ask. 

- 

Philip let out a massive sigh of relief as he hefted his bookbag on one shoulder and escaped the campus, careful to avoid anyones eye. The day had been stressful to say the least. Bebe was pitching a fit at lunch about Kennys absence, which made Clyde emotional.. Honestly, it's not like anyone would even acknowledge that he was gone. 

With a definitive bang, Philip shut his door a little too harshly, ready to be done. “Damien, I've had the most _awful_ day. Kenny wasn't here and it's like it threw the whole ecosystem out of whack. Some bloke tripped me and.. Damien?” The board and planchette sat still as a grave, in the exact spot he'd left it the night before. Usually he'd hear Damien snickering at him by now.  

“... Hello?”


	12. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip recieves a surprise

Philip stared at the still ouija board, an empty feeling gnawing at his stomach. Every day.. How long had it been since the brit had come home to silence, no one to talk to? What had happened? Was his friend okay? Was he upset with Philip? His heart felt like it was wringing itself out. A sound behind him caught him by surprise, and he nearly tumbled from his knees, whipping around so quickly his ponytail slapped him in the jaw.

“You sure are codependent.” A voice from behind Philip chuckled. A husky, familiar voice just like the one in his mind, deeper than the tenor of the demon child he'd known so long ago. On his bed sat a pale, dark-haired boy with crimson eyes. His legs were crossed and his elbows rested on his knees, chin resting on his palm as he smiled lightly at the blond boy. “You look like a kicked puppy.”

Philip sputtered for a few moments, shocked and fumbling for words, and all he was able to muster was a soft, “Damien?” His voice shook, an instinctive fear beginning to nag at his subconscious. There was a  _ demon _ in his room. He gripped the fabric of his shirt, swallowing his conflicted feelings. Self-preservation aside, that glowing happiness at seeing his old friend was unmistakable, and he finally smiled. “I thought you were on lockdown?”

“Snuck out. Thought it might be fun. The look on your face is worth it.” He grinned. “I have a friend keeping a lookout.”

Philip scrambled to his feet, suddenly anxious to close the distance between the two of them. He grasped Damiens hands, holding them in his own. “You're really here.. I can't believe it.”

Damien withdrew in surprise when Philip suddenly rushed him, but relaxed at the contact. He stroked Philip's hands with his thumbs. “Yeah, I'm here. Don't get used to it, I'll be totally tortured if I get caught.” Hs rolled his eyes. “Dad can hold a grudge, man. But what were you saying? You're a mess. Have you not had your cup of tea?”

Philip pouted. “I'm all out. Today has been awful, so imagine my frustration when I get home and my tea chest is empty. Then even  _ you _ didn't.. But now youre here! This is wonderful.” He smiled at Damien, who smiled too, but his gaze flickered around the room, taking in Philips spartan lodgings rather than making eye contact.

Damien cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m here. Same as I have been.” his garnet gaze met Philip’s amber, and for a moment he looked a bit lost. “Same as I will be. Now tell me what’s the matter.”

“Honestly? Nothing, anymore.” Philip let out a breathy laugh, plopping down on the bed beside Damien. “I want to hear more from you; I’m always the one talking about my day. You’ve never told me-- well, much of anything! You said you were trapped in Hell as punishment. What did you do? Have you been there this whole time?”

“Ten years or so.” Damien replied, “I.. Don’t really want to talk about it. Idunno how long dad plans on locking me away, sometimes I think he just forgets about me. Like everyone forgot about me, sometimes I swear it’s been twenty years since anyone has even acknowledged my existence. But.. But that’s not true.” he blinked away the hints of emotion, “Philip. Thank you for remembering me.”

The sound of Philip’s name; his  _ actual _ name, felt like honey sliding down a sore throat. He felt himself melt, and stared at Damien wordlessly. This, this was why the demon meant so much to the British boy. He was nothing short of a stubborn flame, persisting in the icy darkness of the world around him. His hands pressed against his chest, warmth filling him, and his eyes welled. Damien’s widened, and he leaned forward, pulling Philip’s hands from his chest.

“Are you alright, dude? What’s going on with you. Maybe I shouldn’t have come?” 

“No! No no no, this is fantastic.” Philip sniffed, “I.. I can’t seem to connect with anyone but you, Damien. I don’t know what it is. It’s like we’re intertwined somehow, and--”   
  
“Oh my god, are you gay for me?” Damien interrupted, releasing Philip’s hand. His pale cheeks reddened, “What about the goths, they’re your friends. And McCormick. And uh, that blonde chick? You’ve got friends. It’s not like it was when we were little.” he softened as he spoke, recalling the torment his friend had suffered. And how Damien had betrayed him.

Philip shook his head, “It’s not like back then.. I’m not alone, but I feel alone, you know? Like no one gets me, like.. Like I’m not supposed to be here. I have this feeling like, I’m not meant to exist. Kenny seems to understand, and you. But the others.. I can’t say what it is, I simply can’t.. Let go. I close my eyes and I can still hear their taunts, feel things being thrown at me. Being spat on. I-- I don’t want to focus on these things, or think about them. Sorry, I-” the tears that had welled before threatened to spill over, and Philip turned away, ashamed of himself.

The demon prince frowned, an ache even deeper than the circle of Hell he lived in radiating from his heart. “No.. Don’t-- Don’t cry.” he weakly beseeched the blond, but it was too late. Tears rolled down Philip’s cheeks, and Damien felt like he had been punched in the gut. When Philip began to apologize again, Damien took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug, a small gasp escaping the boy at the embrace. “Don’t apologize. I’m here. It’s okay.” he said softly, regretting ever turning his back on this innocent person. 

Philip curled up in Damien’s arms, feeling as though the pieces of him that had broken off long ago were being held together by the demon. It was a relief. Perhaps this was why the Brit struggled so much connecting to others; he was too busy trying to reconnect with the pieces of himself he’d lost. He twitched when suddenly, soft fingers began to comb through his ponytail. He reached up, looping a finger through the elastic and pulling it down. Damien began to slide his fingers through his flaxen, shoulder-length locks, gently tugging any tangles loose. Philip had run out of things to say, simply closing his eyes and allowing the contact. After having it up all day, it felt heavenly. He rested his cheek on Damien’s shoulder. “Thank you.” he said quietly, after a long, comfortable silence.

The demon only hummed in response, continuing to lull Philip into a drowsy haze with his touch, until the Brit actually did fall asleep. He sighed, adjusting himself and Philip so that they were leaning back on his pillow. He then closed his eyes, allowing himself to fade. The sleeping boy fell through Damien’s form, and when their spirits brushed he shuddered, before opening his eyes in Hell

 

Kenny was grinning like a dumbass, sitting in a chair beside Damien’s bed with his arms folded and a smug look on his stupid face. Damien preemptively flicked him off, sitting up stiffly and casting a look around his room. It was nice, for a prison. Shelves lined the walls, laden with dusty tomes labeled by various alchemical symbols along the spines. His bed was large and plush, and took up most of the room. A television was mounted on the wall across from his bed, and that idiotic Canadian show was playing. He immediately searched for the remote, but it was in Kenny’s hand.

“That was so gay.” Kenny said eagerly, his violet eyes glimmering.

“You were watching.” Damien accused, glaring.

“You have a magical earth TV, of course I watched it. You two are adorable. Look at him.” he flipped the channel, and Philip was visible on the tv, curled up right where Damien had left him. The tears glistened, still on his cheeks. He looked cold. Damien regretted not covering him with a blanket. “You should see your face right now, dude.” Kenny laughed when Damien punched him in the arm.

“You have no idea how bad this really is, man. He’s fucking around with forces he doesn’t understand. Why haven’t you convinced him to stop using that thing yet?”

“Why haven’t  _ you? _ ” Damien punched him again. “Dude, you can keep those other fuckers from using the portal he made. You’ve got wards, right? So fuck it. You’re the prince of Hell; temptation and breaking the rules is your whole thing, remember? Besides, look at him.” the two both looked at the screen again, and Damien noticed something he hadn’t before. 

Philip was smiling.


	13. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip adjusts to these new developments
> 
> ((A/N: merry christmas and happy new year guys! Im thinking about posting a tweek/kenny story ive been working on, any thoughts on that? I hope you like this chapter!!
> 
> Also i flipped a coin on whether or not to have cartman show up and bully pip, but the coin said no. Lol))

Philip awoke alone and cold. He grabbed his blanket and rolled over, hiding from the world and curling into a tight ball. Sleep-laden thoughts swirled with images of a dark-haired, crimson-eyed boy, warmth radiating throughout his cocoon from a quiet wellspring in his heart. He didn’t want to face the day, not yet. He held onto the memory from the night before with a desperate grip, fearful that it would slip away from him if he opened his eyes. The blaring of his alarm clock refused to let up, however, and the British boy eventually could fight it no longer. Always the early riser, he couldn’t neglect his morning routine any longer. He sat up and stretched his sore muscles-- He’d slept hard, unmoving through the night. Running his fingers through his tangled blonde tresses, he loosened the knots as he stood, before making his way to the restroom. Philip was eager to wash away the lingering sleep and settle the butterflies still clinging to the bittersweet feelings the reunion had elicited. He wondered if the demon would come back that night, or if it was a one time deal. He rather hoped that wasn’t the case, or he had wasted their limited time by crying. It made him feel gross and weak, and as he shut and locked the door to the communal bathroom, he turned to face himself in the mirror. While he undressed, he examined with no small measure of chagrin the puffy red quality to his eye bags. No matter how much sleep he got, he never seemed to get rid of the soft purplish tone. Perhaps it was genetic-- not like he’d know.

He stripped stiffly, the draft in the facility greeting his skin, decorating his complexion with gooseflesh. He stepped into the shower and turned it on, preemptively flinching at the cold blast he knew to expect. Fortunately, someone must have been in it not long before entered, because the water was more tepid than usual. He supposed it was a perk of not being the first to rise. The water warmed up quickly, and he relaxed his lean muscles under the gentle drum of the shower. His gaze fell to the droplets bouncing off of his skin, catching the fluorescent light of the bathroom. So it was possible for the demon prince to come and visit him, it was just.. Risky, and difficult. That could only mean that the blond actually meant something to Damien, right? He felt a small smile form as he worked his hair into a lather with his favorite herbal shampoo-- It did wonders at keeping his hair silky, plus the smell reminded him of certain teas. Kind of like chai. He tipped his head back to soak his hair, amber eyes sliding closed. He hoped to see Damien again, he truly did. This time he’d have something worth sharing with the mysterious boy, if he decided to show up again tonight. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard again!

After conditioning his hair and finishing up his wash, he stepped out, and was immediately caught off-guard. Of course, he’d forgotten to grab a towel, even a change of clothes.  _ Bloody Hell. How am I so off today?  _ He stood, shivering in the bathroom, and avoided looking at his embarrassed face in the mirror. He felt checked under the sink, and found a damp one folded up. He sighed in relief, though the idea of using a towel after somebody was a bit gross. Rather than rub it on his head, he squeezed as much liquid from his hair as possible and pulled it into a sloppy bun. Anything to keep the tendrils of wet hair off of his neck. He wrapped the towel around his waist and peeked out the door, a harsh blush lighting his face when he made eye contact with an upperclassman who lived down the hall from him. You’d think an orphanage run by the state wouldn’t be co-ed, but there wasn’t enough room to separate the boys and girls. She stared at him, her eyes visibly roaming down his bare, pale chest. Her mouth opened to make a comment, and he backed up into the bathroom and shut the door before she could, then sat on the floor in dismay. How embarrassing! What was he to do? He didn’t want to be seen like this. 

After weighing his options for a while, he threw his hands up in resignation. If they wanted to look, let them. It’s not like there was anything wrong with his body, it only seemed indecent to him, but these things are bound to happen eventually. He opened the door and felt a rush of relief that the girl who had caught him before was gone, though now a couple of guys hung out in the hall, discussing their classes it sounded like. Neither looked up as the door opened, and Philip made his move. Carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone, he pushed forward and began to stride down the hall, a death grip on the towel at his waist. When he made it to his door and slipped inside, he breathed a deep sigh, letting the anxiety escape with the spent air. Gosh, he was going to have to get better with people. Once he took in the familiar, comforting sight of his sparsely furnished room, he relaxed and moved to his dresser, pulling out one of his own towels and began working on his hair and picking out his clothes for the day. His mind wandered while he pulled a white button-up and grey argyle sweatervest from his drawers. The Brit took pride in his appearance, regardless of the fact that he was ceaselessly teased for it. A clean pair of underwear and slacks later, and he examined himself in the mirror. He looked quite posh and fit, if he did say so himself. Hair pulled back neatly, he decided to tie a ribbon around it. A small black bow to replace the bowties he’d been so fond of as a child.

“Damien.” he murmured, softly so no one outside the door would hear him. He wondered if, this early in the morning, the demon would be paying attention to him. “I wonder if this is something I take for granted. The routine of getting up, dressing myself.. My peers don’t get me, but I express myself anyway. Perhaps I’m lucky to have that opportunity. The only time you get to have a voice is when you talk to me.” he sighed, “I imagine if I were in your situation, I wouldn’t even have the motivation to dress.” he stared at himself in the mirror as he spoke, before sitting on the bed to pull on his socks and loafers. 

_ What are you doing, dumbass?  _ an amused voice resonated in his ears, and he quickly looked around the room, seeing no one. The voice was impossible to misplace.

“Damien?” he asked, tipping his head to the side.

_ You were talking to me, goof. Did you think I wasn’t listening? You’re gonna be late for school.  _ Damien’s voice scolded him, sounding entertained and lighthearted.  _ You don’t gotta empathize with me and shit. I’m fine. And you look fine, so stop checking yourself out and get going before you get in trouble. I know how that stresses you out. _

A bright, stupid grin was plastered on Philip’s face, overjoyed to hear from his friend so unexpectedly. He hadn’t even used the board! “How are you doing that? Is it because you came here last night? Are you coming again tonight?”

_ Oh my god, what part of  _ go  _ dont you understand? _ the voice laughed for a moment, then continued,  _ I’m not going anywhere. Go to school. _

Philip frowned. The demon hadn’t answered his question. But, the finality in his tone told the Brit that Damien was done talking. He pushed away the urge to look at himself in the mirror again, since Damien had chastised him for that too, and picked up his satchel and hurried out the door, appalled once he’d checked the time at how late he actually was. School was a drag, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but it was a necessity if he ever wanted to make something of himself, and escape this hellish town.

\--

School was uneventful for once. Kenny still hadn’t returned, and Philip was beginning to get suspicious that something was going on with him. Could there perhaps be a connection between the ouija board’s activities and Kenny’s absence? It seemed like a stretch, and yet somehow made sense, in a South Park kind of way. Otherwise, it was just classes as one would expect. Again, Creative Writing had been the most interesting, and Philip wrote a short story he didn’t really like, about hearing voices in your head. He knew he was being obtuse yet again, but no one would know that. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Howard!” Philip said brightly, walking into the shop with the accompanying tinkle of the bell above the door. Tweek jumped from his spot behind the counter. Their miniature coffee shop had been doing quite well, the blond’s special blends were quite popular with the mismatched customers they got-- Particularly the goths. Pete stood leaning against the counter, clearly in the middle of a conversation with Tweek, and smiled warmly when he saw Philip walk in the door. 

“Cheerio, how’s it hanging?” he closed the distance between himself and the Brit, and Philip smiled in return. 

“ ‘Ello, Pete. It’s so good to see you. I’m doing alright, just hoping to get my paycheck from Mr. Howard so I can buy more tea. I’m supposed to be off today.”

“Ngh- Yeah, it threw me off when you walked in! Of course you’re trying to buy some tea!” Tweek teased Philip, laughing a bit. 

“I think it’s cute. Cheerio is a proud stereotype, just like the rest of us.” to emphasize his point, Pete took a deep sip of his black coffee, winking a dark-rimmed eye at Philip. 

“Did I hear someone come in-- Ahh, Philip my boy, good to see you! I’d imagine you’re after your check, eh?” Mr Howard bustled into the room, arms full of books. “Hold on a moment, I’ve got it in my office.” the older man hefted the stack onto the nearest shelf, then gestured for Philip to follow him to the back.

Another half hour passed before Philip left the shop, chatting with his coworkers and friends for a moment before taking his leave. He was beginning to feel drained, a full day’s worth of social interaction under his belt and so far, nothing tragic had happened to ruin his day. If he could just make it to the bank, the store, and home without incident, that would be lovely.

Having lived in South Park all his life, he knew that the main streets were breeding grounds for groups of bullies, homeless people, and drunks who wouldn’t hesitate to harass the Brit. For that reason, he favored the back alleys. People in the alleys kept to themselves and whatever shady business brought them there. Most were used to seeing him scuttle through, so when the various faces flashed by him as he hurried past, he ignored them. The bank came into view, and he breathed a sigh of relief before stepping in. He ignored the man in front asking him if he wanted to invest, instead taking the check to the register and going about putting it on his card. He’d learned long ago to stop carrying cash.

After purchasing a few things from the store nearby, Philip mentally mapped out the quickest, lowest-traffic route back to his shabby home. It was beginning to get dark already, and he was frankly exhausted. 


	14. Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip and Damien talk

Philip breathed a deep sigh of relief upon walking into the house, kicking his shoes off at the door and heading immediately into the kitchen to brew his tea. He was in such a hurry that he banged his hip on the island counter, and he hissed in pain and nearly dropped the bag  in his hand. “Bullocks.” he grumbled as he reached toward the cabinet beside the stove. He pulled out a tea kettle neatly labeled  _ Philip.  _ He bustled about the kitchen and pulled out the variety pack of loose tea he had purchased. He selected Earl Grey, his favorite, though it was more of a breakfast tea than one to be enjoyed in the evening. Still, he was going to treat himself. 

Carefully balancing the steaming pot and two cups on a tray, he pushed the door to his bedroom open with his uninjured hip. He glanced around the room, disappointment pulling his features down when he saw that his room was empty. He sighed, elbowing his alarm clock and books to the side on his bedside table and set the tray down. He plopped onto his bed and lay back, covering his eyes with his forearm. He lay there for a few moments,  melting into his mattress, sinking down.. Down.. The mattress moved.

Beside him, he could feel the bed depress, as the weight of another person suddenly shifted the bed. He lifted his arm, and looked beside him. There he was, a gentle smile on his pale lips. Philip brightened immediately, sitting up quickly. “Damien! I had hoped you would come.” he smiled at the demon. 

“I can see that.” Damien chuckled, eyeing the pair of cups beside the teapot. “You wanted to have a tea party with me? That’s adorable.” 

Philip gripped the fabric of his comforter as he blushed and looked away. “I.. felt rude, not having  anything to offer you last time. Oh! I have some biscuits as well! I keep them hidden.” a mischievous smile crossed his face, as though he were quite naughty for hiding away his snacks. Damien laughed at him again when he eagerly hopped up and went rustling about in his drawers, before pulling out a bag of shortbread cookies. Damien lifted an eyebrow.

“those are cookies, not biscuits.”

“My mistake, I wasn't aware Hell was American.” Philip quipped back.

“Pfff-- oh fuck , you got me there.” Damien laughed openly. Philip decided he quite liked the sound of Damiens laugh. It was a free kind of laugh, one that held nothing back. He’d heard Damien laugh before, in his head. Here, however, in the room with him, it reverberated pleasantly around the room, disarmingly warm. 

“S-so, let me pour you a cup. How many sugars would you-- Shit! One moment!” he scrambled from the bed, flustered upon realizing he’d forgotten the sugar. He ran from the room, and Damien clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched the boy go. 

“So cute.” he shook his head, then glanced aimlessly about the room. “You seeing this, Ken? If so, mind your own fucking business.

Philip trotted back into the room, a small box of sugar cubes in his hands. He was breathing heavily, as though he had sprinted to the kitchen. “Hah, how many sugars?”

“None.” Damien smirked. “I like my tea black.”

Philip stared at the demon blankly for a moment, then looked down at the sugar in his hand. “.. Oh. Well, fine! I needed sugar for my own tea anyway!” he wasn’t sure how much more embarrassed he could get before his brain would reset. He poured them both a cup of tea, making a point of dropping several sugar cubes into his tea. Damien watched him as one after the other plopped into the dark liquid, eyebrows raised. 

“Want some tea with your sugar?”

“Can we talk about something else! You’ve had your fun at my expense.” Philip pouted, stirring in an attempt to dissolve the cubes.

“Oh, I’ve barely begun.” he laughed, sipping appreciatively from his own cup. “But, are you telling me you have more to talk about than tea?”

“Of course! There’s more to me than tea, Damien.” Philip seemed a bit insulted, staring into his cup of broken up sugar cubes.

“I know..” the demon murmured, tone growing a bit more sincere. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

“You never told me.. What you did to get in trouble. How come you’ve been stuck in Hell for so long? And how are you here now? And why.. Why did you wait so long to contact me?” he curled in on himself shyly at that last question, hesitating on his next comment. He spoke his mind anyway- What did he have to lose? “I missed you.”

Damien frowned, staring at him for a long time before responding. “Maybe I was hoping you’d move on with your life. Having a connection with a demon isn’t a  _ good _ thing, Philip. The deeper I am in your heart, the more I’m on your mind, the more corrupted your soul becomes. This is bad for you.” He looked conflicted, chewing on his lip as he dropped his gaze to the near-empty cup in his hands. Philip really had no idea. He shouldn’t even be here.

Contrary to Damien’s brooding thoughts, Philip melted at the sound of his  _ real _ name coming from the demon’s mouth. Though he had been trying to warn him, that part had gone right over the brit’s head. Damien  _ did _ care for him. “It’s too late to be worried about that.” he murmured without thinking, setting down his too-sweet tea to lean forward and look the demon in the eye. “What has my soul ever done for me? Pure, innocent Philip just gets mocked and abused. You’re the one who doesn’t. Of course you’re the one in my.. On my mind.” He knew he should reel it in. Leave it to him to scare off a demon!

Damien leaned back, pale cheeks reddening as Philip closed the space between them. He didn’t break eye contact though, searching those glimmering eyes for some flicker of doubt. He could find none, and it concerned him. Would this kid just.. Hand his soul over to any demon who treated him halfway decent? Fuck, someone needed to protect him. His heart clenched with the swirling thoughts in his head. God wouldn’t protect this boy, and neither would Satan. His poor, delicate friend. 

“Damien?” Philip asked after a few moments of silence, snapping the prince from his reverie.  “You’ve been staring at me for a bit. Is everything okay?”

Damien shook his head. “Not really.  I- Oops.” suddenly, as he was searching for a response, the teacup  _ phased through _ his hand, spilling the lukewarm drink onto Philip’s bedspread. “Sorry about that..”

“How did you do that?” Philip asked, fascinated. He leaned forward again, looking at Damien’s hand curiously. “It went  _ through _ !” he took the hand in question, holding it in both of his and flipping it over to examine his palm. Damien was warm, and definitely solid. 

Damien snorted. “You’re not mad I just dumped tea all over your bed? Pff. That happened because I stopped paying attention. I’m not really here.. I’m asleep in Hell. You ever heard of astral projection?” Philip nodded in wonder, still playing with Damien’s fingers, sending shivers up the demon’s arm. “Yeah, well it takes a lot of energy to be solid. I can do it because I’m the prince of hell and inherently powerful.” he bragged, “But yeah. The cup slipped through because I forgot for a second. Look.” he lifted the hand Philip wasn’t holding, reaching toward his face. His fingertips ghosted through the blond’s cheek, causing him to gasp. 

“It tingles! Ooh..” he shivered a bit himself. “What an odd feeling. So I’m touching your spirit right now..”  Philip said softly. Damien nodded, at a loss for words at this point. He simply watched as Philip laced their fingers together, a little smile on his face. “It's interesting. You'd think a spirit would be cold, or not feel like anything. But you're so warm.”

Damien shifted awkwardly where he sat, a bit flustered, though he didn't pull away. He probably should have. Instead he cleared his throat and spoke. “After tonight.. I can't come back for a while.” At the instant look of disappointment on Philip's face, he looked away and continued, “Sorry, I just.. Won't be able to. We can still-” he cut himself off. What was he doing, encouraging Philip to use a demon summoning device? No. This needed to stop. But, look how sad he is. He sighed, pulling his hand away. “It's not necessarily forever. I'll still be around.”

Philip gazed at Damien through wide, sad eyes. “I understand, Damien. You're risking a lot right now, right? It.. Means a lot. That you came to see me.” His now-empty hands clenched into fists. “Would you mind.. Staying for tonight? Last time, when I fell asleep on you. Sorry, but I haven't slept that soundly in ages. It feels nice having you here. Could you-” 

“Shh. Yeah, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep. Don't cry.” Damien interrupted him, placing a finger to Philips lips. The blond had started to grow glassy-eyed as he spoke, and Damien simply couldn't handle seeing the poor thing cry again. He was so lonely.. Damien understood.

“Thank you.” Pip said. He smiled fondly at the demon and wiped his eyes. “It's quite late.. I'd love to stay up and chat..”

“Sleep. It's okay.” Damien stood, nudging Philip out of the way and pulled back the blankets. He gestured for the boy to climb in. Philip smiled at him and did so, avoiding the still-damp spot where Damien had spilled his drink. Damien tucked him in, since he could recall how cold Philip had looked on his earth tv. Then he sat beside him, leaning back on the headboard. A comfortable silence filled the air, and Damien thought he may have drifted off, when a soft voice surprised him.

“Hey, Damien?”

“Hm.”

“Will I see you again?”

A lump rose in the demon's throat.  _ You fool, you shouldn't want to see me. I'm the son of Satan! _ He swallowed, before quietly replying.

“Yeah.”


	15. Dark thoughts / Thoughts in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny gets to the bottom of Damiens angst
> 
> Philip has a social life

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Damien hissed, kicking the chair his orange-clad companion dozed on. Kenny awoke with a grunt, slurping the saliva that had pooled in his mouth as he slept. 

“Uhng. Damn, D, what's crawled up your ass?” The blonde shifted in his seat, stretching his legs before he stood and followed the demon as he paced the room. 

“ _ You, _ for starters. You're a bad influence. Why don't you talk me out of this shit? Something  _ awful _ is gonna happen to Pip, if he ever uses that cursed board and I'm not there to answer.. I touched his soul today, and I could  _ feel _ the darkness I've caused.” He clenched his fists, glancing around the room for something to take out his frustration on. He settled on knocking a neatly organized row of DVDs off of the TV stand. He looked down at the mess, and found himself staring at his likeness on the cover of  _ The Omen.  _ Hissing again at the irony, he kicked it. The box skidded swiftly across the room, vanishing beneath the bed. 

“Damien, fam, you gotta chill. Nothing’s gonna happen to Pip as long as you're around. You're the strongest demon I know, if someone fucks with him, you'll take em out.”

“It's not that simple, Kenny. I'm the son of Satan. My  _ job _ is to fuck up and ruin human's lives. I'm the harbinger of destruction. Did you forget what got me locked up to start with? The more I meddle in Pip's life, the deeper the mark I’ve left on him will stain. He deserves Heaven. Ugh! Why did I let you talk me into this.”

“Don't blame me, dude.” Kenny snorted. “It's not like I twisted your arm. I just encouraged you to do what  _ you _ wanted. You miss him as much as he misses you. You can't deny your connection.”

Damien made a growlish noise of dissent, before sitting on the bed and putting his head in his hands. “Why.. Do I fucking  _ care _ so much? This is so stupid.” 

Kenny sat beside his demonic friend, resting a hand on his back. “You're really struggling with this, aren't you. You feel responsible, I get that. You're a good guy. You deserve to be happy, fuck the Prince of Hell shit. I bet if you talked to your dad, told him you just want to be your own person, he'd listen. He's not so bad.”

“Maybe to you he’s not, but he hasn’t acknowledged me in years. Not since I saved Philip and he told me off.” Damien frowned, picking at his long fingernails as he spoke. He took on a gruff, comical version of his father’s deep voice, “ _ You’re the prince of sin, Damien. You’re not meant to rescue people. Selfless acts do nothing to further our cause. Now I’m gonna lock you in your room and fuck Saddam ‘til I forget what a disappointment you are. _ ”

Kenny’s eyebrows knitted together. “When I saw Mecha Streisand’s giant foot coming down on Pip, I thought he was done for. I think it’s sweet that you saved him. It’s dumb for you to be locked up so long over that. I’m gonna talk to him.” he stood, pausing when Damien grabbed his wrist and glared at him. Kenny yanked his arm out of Damien’s grasp, “He owes me, anyway. Just calm your pretty head.” he patted Damien’s dark hair, before slipping out of the room.

Damien stared after him, irritation on his pale face. He folded his arms over his chest and flopped backwards on the bed, pouting at the dark, silent room. He rolled to the side, gaze falling on the remote laying on the bedside table. He stared at it for a long time, mulling over the morality of spying using his magic tv. 

Philip..

-*-*-*-*-

Smoke billowed from Philip’s full lips. He cleared his throat as he choked back a cough, passing the bong to Firkle, who sat to his left. Skipping school with the goth kids was becoming a regular thing, and he was beginning to memorize the lyrics to the alternative music echoing in Henrietta’s dark bedroom. 

“That was a solid rip, Cheerio.” Pete grinned at Philip from his right side, eyes red from the cannabis. “You’re growing your stoner lungs. ‘M proud of you.”

Philip blushed, fiddling with his slender fingers under the praise. He smiled, pulling out his notebook and jotting down a note to himself about the way the orange candle-light lit up the tendrils of smoke coming from the end of Henrietta’s cigarette. One side was darker than the other, and the patterns were fascinating, smoke intermingling with Firkle’s exhalation after he’d taken a hit. He found himself sketching the images he could see in the smoke, unable to come up with as many words as he was looking for. He wanted to tell Damien-- Though, his friend most likely knew what smoke looked like. Being in Hell and all. Still, he wanted to share. 

“You’re always writing in your journals.” Henrietta commented, taking the glass instrument from Firkle. “Like, all the time. I’d totally kill to read some of your shit some day.”

“Mm, terribly sorry if I come off as rude. I don’t mean to. I only want to remember things, and take notes of what I observe.”  _ To share it with Damien. _ He hoped that the things he shared with his friend were a nice break in the monotony of his life stuck locked away. He especially hoped that Damien didn’t find his musings and observations boring.

“Oh no, you’re fine.” Henrietta said, pushing the bud around in the bowl as she spoke, “It gives you that cool, distant writer vibe. Like you’re too good for this world, lost in some other dimension. You’re so interesting, so bright and yet, you’ve got this darkness inside you.” she rambled as she began to flick the lighter and draw the mouthpiece to her black-painted lips.

Michael nodded from his spot across the circle, finally speaking up. “Yeah, it’s super goth. Like, you’re so  _ not _ goth, you are, you know?”

Pete nodded as well, “totally.”

Philip couldn’t help but giggle at his friend’s musings, before checking his watch and laughing harder. “School just ended.” the others snickered as well, giddy in their shared rebellion.

The walk home was  _ fun _ . He stared up at the darkening sky, cloudy and grey and bereft of stars or a moon. It was dark.  _ Spooky _ , even. The thought caused Philip to giggle to himself. He was hardly easy to scare. The occasional rustling of dead leaves behind him sounded suspiciously like footsteps, but he chose not to turn and investigate. He knew from past experiences that checking behind oneself only served to further spike adrenaline. No, Philip enjoyed a peaceful walk home, mind fuzzy with warm thoughts that bit back at the late autumn chill. 

He quietly entered his home, carefully closing the door behind him. He didn’t want to be questioned by his housemates about his absence, if they’d even noticed. It was strange; Philip sometimes felt that he was the most popular unpopular kid in school. As a child he’d been the one everyone loved to hate, though that eventually dissipated into him being ignored entirely once they entered middle school. He wasn’t sure what changed, but there was a turning point in his life where people seemed to just.. Forget about him. He tried not to think about it much, because there was a period of time that he was missing. About a month he couldn’t account for when he was nine. It was around that time that things had seemed different, in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He supposed it didn’t matter, anyway. 

The blond teen was already beginning to doze on his feet by the time he stumbled into his room, plopping onto his bed and kicking off his shoes lazily. The normally tidy boy wasted no time in getting comfortable, squirming out of his pants and vest before relaxing in his button-down. He snuggled his face into his pillow, appreciating the softness.

“Damien?” he mumbled, smiling as the name escaped his lips. Near-silence followed, but Philip wasn’t fooled. Ever so faintly, he could hear a soft hum of acknowledgement in Damien’s unmistakable tenor. He sighed softly, nestling himself under the covers.

“Goodnight.” he murmured, smiling into his pillow.


	16. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a physical altercation, Philip is confronted with the truth.

With a sharp gasp, Philp dropped to his knees and grasped his stomach, struggling to take another breath. A heavy foot between his shoulder blades pushed him down onto his hands, and he kicked desperately at his assailant as he felt large hands begin patting his pockets down, searching for anything worth stealing. The homeless problem in South Park hadn’t gone anywhere, and one had to watch their back when walking in the dark. Philip had been simply heading home from work when a man grabbed him from the shadows. He bit into the hand covering his mouth and called for help, though experience would suggest that no one would come to his rescue. Philip wasn’t in bad shape; he took care of himself, worked out lightly and did a bit of heavy lifting at his job, but he was caught off guard and his lithe frame was no match for the grown man rifling through his pockets. He kicked the man in the side and managed to put some distance between them, then froze when he saw the familiar outline of the haunted planchette in the man’s hand. _How had that gotten there? Shit!_ Panic filled him as the man pulled himself to his feet and took a few steps back, grumbling something about how this little shit had nothing of value, and he’d wasted his time.

“Give that back!” Philip cried, closing the distance between himself and the man and wrapping his hand around the planchette, desperate not to lose the tool he used to communicate with Damien. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that even if the man stole it, there was a possibility that it would return to him on its own. Still, rationale lost to impulse, and he began trying to wrench it from the man. He simply tightened his grip, painfully pinching his fingers into the carved wood. The man grabbed him by the hair, winding his ponytail around his hand and yanking his head back. Philip whimpered in pain and fear, caught once again by his own thoughtless actions.

“Brave little twink, aren’t you?” the man sneered, jerking the planchette from Philip’s grasp. “The hell is this thing, anyway?” he turned it over in his hand, “Looks like a hunk of wood to me.”

“Then.. Give it back? Please?” Philip hesitantly asked, legs trembling from the odd angle the man held him at. He tried to adjust his footing as he grasped a the man’s hand, trying to pry his fingers out of his blonde locks. The man only laughed and tightened his grip. Philip grunted again. How did he always end up in situations like this? Just when things seemed to be going his way..

“Let him go.” A gruff voice emanated in the darkness, and a hooded figure came into view. Philip gasped as the familiar figure from T-shirts and posters long ago stood before him, taller than before. It was Mysterion; the masked vigilante that had helped to clean up South Park once before. A symbol of hope for the run-down town, until his identity had been revealed and South park had returned to the crime-ridden state it had been in before.

“The fuck are you, kid?” the man chuckled, his grip on Philip’s hair loosening as he addressed the teenaged hero approaching them. Philip’s bright eyes flashed between the two frantically, from Mysterion to the man, to the planchette still gripped in his other hand. All he wanted was to get it back, then get the hell out of here.

“Who I am doesn’t matter. Release that boy, or face the hand of justice.” He advanced on them as he spoke, imposing with every step. Philip’s eyebrows knitted together, a little frustrated at being called a boy. He was seventeen years old, thank you. Still, he appreciated the rescue-- He hadn’t been quite sure how he was going to get out of this one. 

“The fuck-” the man repeated, though he was unable to finish his sentence, as Mysterion’s gloved fist collided with his face moments later. He’d had one whole second to release Philip, and when he failed to, his nose paid the price. The moment the impact occurred, the Brit ripped his hair out of the thug’s grasp, sacrificing a few strands that remained caught in the man’s fat fingers and ripped from his scalp. Before retreating, he flung out his arm, smacking him in the wrist where his hand still gripped the planchette. It flew from his hand, and Philip scampered after it, leaving Mysterion to excessively pin the man as he scooped up his prize from the ground a few feet away.

Philip smiled down at the item, then jumped as the hero approached him. “Let’s go.” he took Pip by the arm and pulled him toward him. The Brit cast a glance back at his would-be mugger, in a heap on the ground. Well, that certainly didn’t work out for him. Still, he’d gotten a few good blows in, and the adrenaline which had kept the pain at bay was beginning to fade. He could use a nice cup of tea and a nap at this point. And a shower. That man had been disgusting. As he followed Mysterion, the things he’d blocked out as the man had been upon him began to flash through his mind. The stink of alcohol on his breath. The feeling of those grubby hands gripping his thighs, feeling along his hips. It had been repulsive. He began to shudder involuntarily, slowing and wrapping his arms around himself. Why was it always Philip? What was it about him that made him such a victim?

Mysterion slowed when he realized Philip was no longer a few paces behind him. He turned, and his half-concealed expression softened when he saw the look on the blond’s face. He moved back and carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders, urging him forward. “You’re okay now, don’t worry. Just come with me, I’ll get you cleaned up.” his voice held less of the forced gravelly tone from before, compassion filling in the spaces.

“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked, obediently walking with Mysterion. He looked at their surroundings. They appeared to be heading downtown. More specifically, to the area south of downtown. Realization dawned on him as the SoDoSoPa ruins loomed above. Mysterion led him around back, to a hidden entrance through a massive hole in the run-down building the McCormicks called a home. Philip wasn’t one to judge-- No maintenance was done on the building he lived in. It’s not like it was any better. He felt warmth fill him as he ducked inside, clothes hung in the closet brushing against his head. The two emerged in Kenny’s room, posters of half-nude ladies and motorcycles covering dents and holes in the walls. It was quite drafty, but homey. He’d never been inside Kenny’s room, and found it quite charming honestly. Mysterion gestured for him to sit on the bed.

“You’ll be safe here. Get comfortable, and I’ll uh.. Go get Kenny.” He said a bit awkwardly, before backing into the closet. Philip let out an amused snort, smiling knowingly as he heard shuffling and then silence. He looked himself over as he waited for Kenny. He was a bit more banged up than he’d realized, one of his knees was badly scuffed and bleeding when he pulled up his pant leg to examine the stinging pain. his arms were bruised and scraped as well, and his back was quite sore. All in all, for a mugging, it hadn’t been too bad. Still, it was rather unfortunate. At least he had gotten his planchette back. It may have been foolish to try and fight the man for it, but it had been on principle. This was important to him. Damien was important to him. He wondered if that was even sound logic.

Philip’s thoughts were interrupted by the door to the bedroom opening, and Kenny walked in, clad in his classic orange parka. As if that would fool him. It was kinda cute how the teen tried to keep the secret identity thing, even though he’d been busted years ago. He just smiled at him, “Hey, Kenny.” he said fondly.

“Oof, you’re bleeding.” was the first thing Kenny said. He’d started to speak in his gruff Mysterion voice, but caught himself and returned to a normal pitch quickly. Again, Philip pretended not to notice. “Here, I’ve got a first aid kit. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“May I shower first?” Philip asked softly. “I feel quite disgusting.”

“Oh! Sure. I’ll get you a change of clothes, you’re not that much smaller than me and most of my clothes are too tight anyway.” he laughed, moving toward his dresser. “Wait! Let me get you a towel.” he rushed from the room. Philip chuckled softly. Kenny always put on this smooth persona, but he was a dork in reality. Everyone knew it.

Before long, Philip was in the McCormick’s surprisingly clean bathroom. It looked as though it had been repaired at some point, and he wondered if Kenny had done it. There was a basket of makeup and feminine products beside the sink, and he suspected that his little sister Karen may be responsible for the cleanliness. He’d seen Karen around in school. She was quite pretty, and seemed to take good care of herself. It was a contrast to the way the family used to look, he could recall their parents always being a bit unkempt, but the kids seemed to attempt to rise above their conditions. Other than the older brother, Philip couldn’t remember his name, but he hadn’t seen him in years. It was really none of his business, so he never bothered asking about him. The shower had decent water pressure, and Philip allowed his muscles to relax under the spray. Kenny used Old Spice products. The scent was strong, but he didn’t mind using it.

Philip made the shower quicker than he normally would-- he didn’t want to use up their hot water or anything. He examined himself in the mirror, frowning at the light bruises beginning to bloom on his arms and chest. Some of them didn’t even make sense, as he couldn’t remember being hit on his hip, his shoulder. He supposed it was just his tender skin bruising easily, and he had been knocked around a bit. He pulled on the navy tank top Kenny had given him, which surprisingly fit him well. He could see why some men liked to wear these shirts, as they accented the biceps nicely. Still, Philip wouldn’t sacrifice his sense of fashion just to appeal to more people. Like he cared. The basketball shorts he’d been given were a hard pass, though. He wore them, but he’d be quick to return to his own boot cut slacks as soon as possible. He toweled off his hair and pulled it into a sloppy bun, deciding to mess with it later.

He returned to Kenny’s room, where the boy sat with a chipped mug in his hands. Steam rose from the cup, and the familiar smell of black tea rose from it. “It’s not fancy or anything, but I did find some tea bags in the pantry.” Kenny said sheepishly, with a smile. Philip lifted a hand to his chest, absolutely touched.

“Oh, Kenneth, how thoughtful!” he said, quickly approaching to take the mug from him. Kenny opened up his other fist to reveal several sugar packets that looked like they’d been swiped from a restaurant.

“You were mumbling about tea the whole walk back here, so.” he smiled, unaware that he’d just broken continuity. As such, he wasn’t sure why Philip started laughing as he stirred sugar into the tea and took an appreciative sip. “Jeez, how do you drink it that hot? Like, doesn’t it hurt?”

“Not when you’re used to it.” he said simply. Then he set down the cup on the bedside table, smiling softly at Kenny. “Thank you, by the way. For everything. This is the first time.. Someone has looked out for me. Saved me.”

Kenny’s eyebrows knitted together, a swirl of emotion rising within him. _No, it’s not._ He thought, pain for his friend causing his heart to clench. He had no idea, and it was unfair. Still, today, Philip had proven something to Kenny. He felt the same way. He deserved to know. It wasn’t right to keep it a secret. Kenny took a deep breath, conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind.

“Pip, why don’t you stay the night?” he asked.

Philip blinked curiously at the sudden offer, then smiled again and nodded. “Sure. We don’t have school tomorrow anyway.”

“Hell yeah.” Kenny smiled back. “Wanna play some games?” he gestured to the TV he had set on a desk against the wall. A PS3 sat beside it, along with a neat stack of games and four controllers in various states of disrepair, some were the cheap wired kind while others were the brand name. Some were taped together, but all seemed relatively well taken care of.

With an emphatic nod, Philip moved to skim through the games. “I never get to play video games! Two-player games usually involve fighting one another right?” he didn’t seem too into that idea, aware that Kenny was likely to destroy him without breaking a sweat.

“Nah, there’s some where we can be on the same team and fight big monsters. I also have a racing game.” He joined Philip by the console, pointing to one titled Need for Speed. Philip hummed softly, thoughtfully.

“I’d like to try fighting something as a team!” he said eagerly.

The two ended up settling on Diablo 3 and both teens got engrossed quickly. They played loudly late into the night, eating pizza rolls and getting carried away. More than once, Philip would jump to his feet, shouting “This game cheats! Did you see that?! He one-shotted me! I augmented my armor, how can this be?!”

Kenny would only laugh, finding Philip’s competitive side adorable. Damien must be so jealous, the Brit was fun to be around. … Oh. Thinking of Damien reminded him, he had something to say.

“Hey, Pip.” Kenny bumped Philip with his elbow, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“Mm.” Philip replied, engrossed in the game.

“About that thing you were fighting that guy for.. It was a planchette for a ouija board, yeah?”

Philip stopped playing and looked at Kenny, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. “Ah.. Right, about that. It’s a long story but. It was important to me.” he glanced down at his hands, brushing his thumb across a bit of tape lining the side of his controller.

“He feels the same way. About you.” Kenny said, setting his controller down and looking seriously at Philip.

Philip froze, hundreds of questions buzzing in his mind and leaving it blank “... Huh?” was all he was able to articulate. “Who? How do you- what?”

“You know who, Pip. He cares about you. You ever wonder why he's locked up? It's because he saved you once. That was against the rules.”

Philip's eyes widened, confusion and realization swirling into a rush of adrenaline. His contradicting feelings triggered his fight or flight instinct in a strange, inexplicable way. Kenny knew.. Everything? Damien had saved him? He felt a strange, vague part of himself click into place, understanding flooding the void he'd been so aware of for so long. The missing years. The strange shift in atmosphere when he was eleven. Had Damien rescued him from death back then? His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he struggled with what to say, which question to ask, but there was one thing he wanted to know more than anything. _Why do I believe him?_


	17. Whiplash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip learns more about Kenny, then comes home to a surprise.

After a fitful, unsatisfying sleep, Philip sat up, allowing Kenny’s blanket to slide off of his shoulders and into his lap. He looked around the room and spotted Kenny off to the side, knelt next to a large cage he hadn’t noticed the night before. He was murmuring softly to whatever was inside, reaching into the little door with a soft expression on his face. How hadn’t Philip noticed that Kenny had a pet? Curiously, he swung his legs off of the bed and stood, stretching briefly before approaching the taller boy. 

“Who’s this?” he asked, kneeling beside him. Now that he was in front of the cage, he could clearly see what was inside; rats. Three, four.. Five of them. They were all various shades of greyish brown, and Philip swallowed his initial shock before resting a hand on Kenny’s forearm. “You keep rats as pets?” he was surprised, but not disturbed as some might be. He felt a bit of a kinship with rodents, being at the bottom of the food chain, misunderstood. It made sense that Kenny might feel the same way.

Kenny’s violet gaze drifted from the rat licking his finger to Philip, and he offered him a soft smile. “I started keeping them here to keep Kevin from hurting them when I was a kid. They’re sweet, awesome pets. These ones are all girls. I had another cage with the boys, but they fought a lot and I gave them away to different homes. This is Felicity.” his voice was warm, and he turned his hand and air kissed at the rat he was petting, and she climbed obediently into his palm. He pulled her out and offered her to Philip, who withdrew a bit uncomfortably at the unfamiliar sensation of a rat being close to him. But the little thing had quite a sweet face, and stood on her hind legs in Kenny’s hand to sniff at him. She seemed quite tame. He held out both of his hands, and Kenny deposited Felicity into his hands. 

Philip stiffened at first, adjusting to the feeling of her little clawed hands as she explored this new person. She climbed from his hands to his chest, settling on his shoulder and nosing through his hair. Her whiskers tickled his ear, eliciting a giggle from the Brit. Kenny smiled at him and reached out to scratch Felicity’s side. 

“What a lovely lass.” Philip said, smiling back and also reaching up with a finger to stroke the rodent’s cheek. 

“They get such a bad rap. I grew up with them, and they’re just like you or me. All they want is companionship, a cozy place to sleep, and something to eat. They’re smart and affectionate. Ugh, I could go on forever, sorry.” Kenny shook his head.

“No, I think it’s wonderful that you take the time to show these creatures kindness. I’m surprised I didn’t notice them last night! Though I suppose I was quite engrossed in the game.”

Kenny nodded, extracting the rat from Philip’s shoulder and returning her to her cage. It took a bit of maneuvering to detangle her fro his long hair, but she came free without much trouble. Philip asked Kenny a few more questions about rats, fascinated at the concept of keeping them as pets. The orphanage had annual rat problems, and Philip had cried many times when he found the poor things caught in glue traps. He could never save them. But Kenny did, and that was amazing.

After their chat, Philip bid Kenny farewell, naturally finding themselves in a friendly embrace before parting. Philip thanked Kenny for his help and hospitality, and for telling him the truth about Damien that had eluded him for so long. With that, Philip began the walk home, jokingly telling his friend that he rather hoped he could make it to his house without getting jumped this time.

Miraculously, he arrived home unscathed. He pushed his way inside with a huff of relief to escape the bitter cold outside. He made his way down the hall into his room, peeling off his coat and brushing snow from his hair. When he walked into his room, he flipped on the light and gasped, backing against the door with a loud bang, nearly falling to the floor in his shock. There, on his bed, sat a tall, dark-haired boy. It was Damien- sitting perfectly still, crimson eyes trained on Philip when the light came on. His elbow was propped on a stack of pillows and his cheek rested in his hand, looking bored as though he’d been here for quite a while. There was something different about him, a flush to his skin he hadn’t had before. His eyes seemed to flicker like flames, alive and bright. Even his hair, black as the night, had a sheen it hadn’t had before.

Hand pressed to his chest, he willed his heartbeat to still from the shock, but now it was the demon boy’s presence that caused his heart to flutter, the knowledge he’d gained from Kenny fresh on his mind. “Damien..” he said softly, feeling suddenly breathless. They stared at each other, silence filling the room. There was an otherworldly quality to Damien’s presence, and an energy Philip hadn’t felt for a long time filling the room. He was really here. Like _ , really _ here. He could tell, and he had no idea what to say. He silently begged for the son of Satan to speak, to break this tension, but all he could hear was the soft buzz of empty air in his ears.

Finally, Damien shifted his posture, sitting up fully without breaking eye contact. “Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.” Philip felt his shoulders drop in relief that the staredown had ended, and approached his bed. He noticed that the ouija board sat beside the demon. Philip opened his mouth to speak, but found himself fumbling for words. He’d been asked a simple, direct question. Despite that, his heightened awareness of Damien’s true, solid presence mingled with the new light he saw the demon in; this was his savior, his best friend. His confidant of the past few years. Damien sighed at Philip’s silence, intelligent eyes scanning the Brit’s expression. “You’ve been with McCormick.” it wasn’t even a question. “Look, forget whatever he told you. It’s just me.” he rolled his eyes a bit as he spoke, and Philip suddenly closed the space between them, hands going to the demon’s shoulders.

“ _ Just you _ ? Damien, why didn’t you tell me? You saved my life!” Philip gripped his shoulders, suddenly finding his voice at Damien’s dismissive tone. “You.. You’ve always looked out for me. I’m so.. So grateful. I’m alive, and I have friends.. All thanks to you.” he felt himself tear up, desperately fighting them back. He didn’t want to cry in front of Damien again; it seemed to be all he ever did. The demon simply brought out so many emotions the blond took such care to stow away.

With a disgruntled noise, Damien pulled Philip’s hands from his shoulders, holding both of his wrists in his large, warm hands. The spots where their skin touched danced with an electricity Philip had never felt before, and he shivered. Damien shook his head, “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I’m  _ evil _ . I wasn’t supposed to save you. That’s what got me locked up, and with good reason. If I had left you alone, you would have gone to Heaven. Now it’s.. Questionable. Dealing with demons..”

“Taints my soul? Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times.” Philip interrupted. It was his turn to roll his eyes, pulling his hands from Damien’s grip. He picked up the ouija board. “You told me not to use this, not to talk to you, to stay away from demons. But like it or not, our lives are intertwined. If you’re about to try to push me away, it’s not gonna work.” his hand rested on his hip as he spoke.

Damien’s mouth opened to reply, but he shut it again. He hadn’t been expecting Philip to be so snappy. It was cute, honestly, and weakening his resolve to cut and run. “You.. You don’t know what you’re saying, Philip.” he murmured, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m..  _ Trying _ .. To do the right thing.” he balled his hands into fists. 

“Well,  _ why? _ Who said you should do what  _ you _ think is right for me? I see what you’re doing. You’re going to leave, aren’t you. You got out of Hell, and you came here to say  _ bye, don’t call me _ . Tell me I’m wrong.” Philip tossed the board on the floor to punctuate his indignation, folding his arms across his chest. “You insist that you’re so bad and evil, yet you’re constantly looking out for me. You’re contradicting yourself, Damien.”

“Fuck, shut the fuck up  _ Pip _ !” Damien stood, voice rising. Philip flinched, catching Damien’s intentional use of his hated moniker like a knife. “You.. Have me on some pedestal, and I can’t.. I would only let you down, get you hurt, dragged to Hell, or worse. This,” he gestured between them, “Is bad news. You’re ignorant if you don’t see that. I know you’re not, you’re just stubborn. And you’re right.” his voice dropped, softened, grew somber and sad. Philip’s heart ached as he listened, unable to conjure up an argument. “I did come to say goodbye. I came to tell you I was leaving. Dad finally let me go, and I.. I have to  _ go _ . Not just for you, but for me. I’ve got some shit to figure out.” he paced the room as he spoke while Philip stood still, following the demon with his gaze.

Damien stopped beside the board, which lay upside down on the floor. He tapped it with his foot, then closed his eyes in thought. “Philip..” He used his real name again, which sent a shiver across Philip’s skin as it always seemed to. “Don’t use this again. Don’t use any of them. If you do.. It won’t be me on the other side. Be smart.” he kept his back to Philip, hands balling up into fists again. Philip approached, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Damien flinched away.

“Don’t go.” he murmured, wrapping his arms around himself. In spite of his plea, he could feel it.. Damien was already gone. The demon boy turned around, and their eyes met again. Briefly, Philip could read the sadness in Damien’s face, before a burst of flame sent the Brit stumbling backwards. Before his eyes, Damien’s form was spontaneously set ablaze, his red eyes vanishing in a swirl of blue and orange fire. A pillar of flame stood before him, burning hot and whipping the air around him into what felt like a miniature tornado. He had to hold his hair out of his face, as he called out again. His voice seemed to be snatched away the moment the words left his lips, and he felt overwhelmingly helpless. No matter what he said now, Damien wouldn’t hear. 

As the fire died down, Damien was, of course, gone. All that remained was smoke, the faint smell of brimstone, and the board, which continued to burn. Philip swiftly looked around his room, papers and books and clothing scattered about by the anomaly that had occurred. He grabbed a blanket and tried to smother the flames on the board, to no avail. This was no ordinary fire. It felt hot, but didn’t burn him, and seemed impervious to any outside force. After several fruitless attempts to stomp it out, he eventually fell to his knees and simply watched as the board he’d used for so long turned to ash before him. Nothing around it was burnt; not the carpet, the walls, the blanket. The fire died without leaving a single mark, and it was only Philip, a messy room, and the charred remains.


	18. Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip struggles to deal with life without his source of solace. It feels like everything is falling apart.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: hiii! Sorry sorry sorry it's been so long, and thank you so much for your sweet comments! Im going to reply individually, but I really hope you guys have stuck around and like this chapter! Some crazy stuff is coming up, so hopefully it will make up for my 4 month break. Ive missed this story a lot, and it feels great to post again! Love you all <3

_ I miss you. _

Philip sighed as he stared at the single line at the bottom of the page, as though a response would spontaneously appear beneath it to match the other entrees in what he mentally referred to as the ‘Damien Diary’. In all fairness, a magical reply wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, given their method of communication up until now. Of course, no reply came. That would be too easy. He wondered idly if he could pull something cheap like trying to summon him. Damien would be pissed, but it seemed plausible. After all, Philip personally knew multiple people in his class who had summoned Satan Himself, so why not his son?

With a huff, Philip shook his head to dismiss the whole idea. What would he even say? Something pathetic like  _ I feel lost without your presence, even if we rarely spoke face to face. _ The thought made him feel like a girl, or some kind of spurned lover. He tried to convince himself, over and over, that he was exaggerating the nature of their relationship in his head. In all his free time, however, it was growing increasingly more difficult not to dwell on the details and spot the signs he’d overlooked that the demon truly cared for him. Either that, or he was inserting his own feelings and ideas in places they didn’t belong. 

It had been _months_. When Philip wasn’t moping about work or spacing out in school, he sat at home, notebooks spread across the bed. His gaze would fall to the faint scorch mark on the floor where he’d swept up the remains of the ouija board. Nothing else had been touched by the fire, save the very spot the occult board sat. It made him sad. He’d stared at it so long, it had begun to take on shapes. It seemed to change day by day. Yesterday he’d been sure it was the spitting image of a T-rex, like a cave painting. Today it looked like a rat, long tail and all. He found himself thinking of Kenny, his kindhearted friend who took in nature’s most downtrodden animal. 

For the first few weeks after Damien’s departure, Philip had turned to his friends, the Goths, and their herbs to soothe his aching spirit. It helped, and he appreciated their companionship, but at the same time, all the  _ hail satan _ ’s and dark clothing did little to distract the Brit from the boy he ached for. He couldn’t even explain it to them, where would he even begin? Pete was always giving him these gently concerned looks, and it made him feel guilty for not being a good enough friend to someone who clearly cared for him. So, bit by bit, he drifted away from the goths, instead finding comfort in Kenny. His free time was spent in Kenny’s room, and they’d taken to letting out his many pets to roam while they played videogames and ate pizza, feeding the crusts to the rodents who hopped into his lap. Kenny would frequently snake an arm around Philip, and at first he’d flinch away at the unfamiliar contact. Now, sitting alone in his room, he rather wished Kenny was here, and would wrap his arm around him again and tell him things would be okay.

Nothing particularly bad was happening, and Philip found himself in a catharsis of sorts. This time away from his demonic companion gave him a bit of clarity on the nature of their relationship. They had almost been like pen pals; his notebooks read like diary entries where the book would reply. It reminded him a bit of that Harry Potter book where Ginny had found Tom Riddle’s diary. But Damien had no nefarious plan. In fact, he’d been warning him all along that consorting with demons was a bad idea. Still, he was heartbroken that he’d lost that outlet. Nothing comforted him like the sound of Damien’s voice, softly echoing inside his head.

Whatever he and Damien had, it was more complex than Philip’s relationship with Kenny. Even Pete, who gave him those soft looks from time to time, had nothing on the boiling emotion he could see and feel pouring from Damien’s eyes. Damien's blazing eyes were a window to his soul, and Philip could almost swear he’d seen his own feelings reflected back at him with a burning intensity. After three months of silence, he wondered if he was only projecting. The brit couldn’t bring himself to doubt his instinct, however. He  _ knew _ something was there. He had to find a way to get in touch with Damien again. 

Kenny had been gone for a few weeks. Philip was beginning to suspect that Kenny had some type of supernatural ability. He knew things he shouldn’t, and had a connection with Damien far more tangible than the one Philip had. He would dance around the subject when asked, but Philip was far from slow. He knew of Kenny’s alter ego, Mysterion. He knew that Mysterion’s supposed ‘power’ was an inability to die. Well, what if he actually could die, he just always came back? That would explain how he knew what he did about Damien, and why he vanished for so long. It also lined up with his self-sacrificing nature. If he told anyone this theory, they’d call him crazy. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Kenny directly, but he planned on it if.. When the blond returned again. 

Emotionally drained by everyone and everything, he found that his occasional indulgence in cigarettes had become a gnawing need for the comfort. Ducking outside to have a nicotine fix was the perfect escape, where he could stand alone and have imaginary conversations in his mind. It was a bit of a guilty pleasure; not just because of the destructive effects he knew cigarettes had, but also because it reminded him of the goths, who had welcomed him into their circle with open arms and he’d basically pushed them away and isolated himself.

It was during one of these breaks, outside his job, that Pete finally confronted him about his sudden change. Philip couldn’t meet his eyes, instead settling his gaze on the fluorescent red streaks glinting in the sunlight when the goth flipped his bangs from his eyes as he asked him what was wrong; what had changed that caused Phillip to skip out on the many invitations his friends had extended to him. All the brit could do was smile sadly at his friend, and murmur an insincere, “It’s nothing you guys did, it’s a me thing. I’ll come around eventually, I’m just.. Going through some stuff.”

Pete’s eyes, normally so stormy and yet so soft when aimed at the blonde, hardened. “What does it have to do with Kenny?” Philip froze. He blinked rapidly at the goth, wide-eyed and caught off-guard. When he scanned the goth’s face, he saw traces of hurt, perhaps even a hint of jealousy. His many conversations with Pete flashed in his mind, and all the pieces of the truth clicked together. Pete.. Felt betrayed, replaced by Kenny in Philip’s life. Guilt gnawed at him, and he struggled to articulate a response. His new revelation mingled with the question at the forefront of his mind. Had Pete liked him all this time? Had Philip unintentionally broken his friend’s heart?

A few lengthy moments of silence dragged by, and Pete moved closer to Philip, causing the smaller teen to back up into the brick wall. “Hello? Are you gonna answer me, or just stand there with your mouth open?” his eyebrows knitted together, and he didn’t even appear to be trying to hide the hurt on his face. His prying words were gentle, yet insistent. 

Philip quickly closed his mouth, swallowed, then opened it again in an attempt to reply. He felt quite like a fish, before stammering a lackluster, “I’m sorry..” as he shuffled words around in his mind in an attempt to formulate the explanation he felt Pete deserved. His quiet apology seemed to be enough for the taller boy, as Pete turned without another word, flicking his own half-smoked cigarette to the ground as he started walking away. Philip stared helplessly at his back, an awful feeling sliding into the depths of his stomach. It quickly spread, effectively coating his gut with the sense of loss he was beginning to grow familiar with. Tears welled in his eyes and he wondered if he could pick up the pieces of this friendship and fix things. Even worse, he wondered if he cared enough to try. In that moment, even the pain of watching Pete walk away was a dull throb echoing in the empty space Damien left behind. The guilt ate away at him, and he snuffed out his smoke before slipping back into his shop, the soft tinkle of the bell seeming far louder than usual.

The hot summer months ticked by, and Kenny reappeared the day before school was to begin again. Philip had gone for a walk, appreciating the cool evening air as the climate began to hint at the approaching Autumn season. The tips of the leaves had already begun to turn orange, and there were fewer tents and homeless people sleeping on the streets than there had been in the height of summer. As Philip approached the ruins of SoDoSoPa, his thoughts drifted to Kenny. Where did he go? When would he be back? Why did no one notice that he was gone? The mysteries surrounding Kenny continued to crop up in his mind whenever he thought of the kind boy, but he tried not to dwell. It was his business, and if he felt like sharing he would. Philip had enough supernatural shit on his plate. 

He was surprised, then, to spot Kenny leaning against the side of a dilapidated building, pipe in hand, far-off expression. A rather unflattering squeak of surprise and delight escaped Philip, and he dashed over to his friend before he’d even thought about it. “Kenny!” he “Ole chap, how the hell are you?! I haven’t seen you in so long. I’m so relieved you’re back!” he gushed, throwing his arms around Kenny’s middle in spite of how shy he typically was.

“Woah, Pip!” Kenny laughed, bracing himself against the wall during the impact and holding his pipe up to avoid dropping it. “It’s good to see you too, buddy. I swear you’re the only one who ever misses me.”

“That can’t be true. Everyone loves you. Ah-- Im sorry.” he chuckled awkwardly as he let go and stepped away, “I was a little enthusiastic. It’s just been a lot.. You know, this summer has been.. Ugh.” Philip rubbed his face with his hand in frustration, struggling to articulate everything he wanted to say.

“Everyone, huh?” he chuckled again. “Don’t apologize, I’m always down to cuddle. Ya just kinda surprised me. You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind, let’s have a chat.” Kenny sat down, patting the spot beside him and holding the pipe out to Philip, an inviting smile on his face.

“Thank you, Kenny. You’re the best, you know that?” Philip said gratefully, plopping down beside him. He took the glass from Kenny, and pulled his cigarette pack from his pocket to offer him one in return. Kenny raised an eyebrow and eyed the pack with a curious look, but didn’t comment on the new habit he’d picked up, and wordlessly accepted one. 

As the sun began to slide beneath the horizon, the two blondes had a pleasant conversation, avoiding heavy topics like death curses and vanishing demon spawn, instead discussing the upcoming schoolyear and what classes they’d be taking, what drama from the preceding year would have lasted the summer and what would have blown over. Stan and Kyle had gotten into a fistfight over some political disagreement at the end of the year, but Kenny assured Philip that feud was long forgotten by the two ‘super-best-friends’. Finally, Philip confessed about what had gone down between him and Pete, as well as why he’d been avoiding the goths. He hung his head in guilt and shame as he finished venting, wrapping his arms around himself against the evening chill.

“Aww Pippers, it’s gonna be okay.” Kenny consoled him, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically. Philip sniffled softly as Kenny continued, “Jealous, huh? Gotta say, I can totally see it.” he said sagely, “And it never occurred to you that Pete liked you? Heh, you’re so blinded for your..  _ Feelings _ for a certain demon, it went right over your head. Poor Pete. I know how he feels. Don’t worry, hun. The goth kids love you. This will blow over.” Phillip leaned back to look at Kenny’s face, searching his boyishly handsome features for any hidden meaning, or answers his friend kept to himself. Whatever Kenny knew, felt, or chose not to say was masked by an unreadable smile. Still, his friend’s reassurances did comfort Phillip, and he relaxed whilst letting his eyes fall shut. 

“I guess it’ll either work out or it won’t. Gosh, I’ve got to get my shit together.” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Kenny laughed, “Yeah you do. I think you’re doing fine though.”

“Thanks.” was Phillips unenthusiastic reply.

“Let’s make a deal!” Kenny said suddenly, causing the brit’s eyes to snap open and lock on the blonde. Kenny grinned, “I think getting out more will be good for you. You’ve come out of your shell a lot in the past few years, and thanks to a certain someone, you’ve regressed.” Philip squinted at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Anyway, you’re gonna socialize more this year. Think about it, it’s your last year of high school! It’s time to let loose. You’re a lot cooler than you think, and people like you. Like Tweek? He always talks about how impressed he is by how much you know about like, book stuff. Apparently y’all had a conversation about gothic architecture that was ‘enriching’.” he put air quotes around the word, amused. “We’ll start going to stuff, like parties and things. You can hang with my crew. Stop making that face!” Philip had screwed up his features like he’d just smelled something rotten. Hanging with Stan and those guys didn’t appeal to him at all. He liked Tweek, and Craig was cool, Token seemed nice. But Stan and Kyle? They were a lot. Plus Eric made his skin crawl. Ugh, no thanks. Kenny pressed on, “Anyway, here’s the deal. If you let your guard down and have some fun, I’ll help you out. Idunno where he is right now, but I can spill what I  _ do _ know about Damien.”

Philip’s heart fluttered the instant Damien’s name came out of Kenny’s mouth. It was astounding that something as simple as a name could have a profound, physical effect on him. He placed a hand to his chest, taking slow breaths to try to settle his pulse. Kenny snickered, “You’re too easy, Pip. You should see your face, you’re blushing! So, is it a deal?”

Philip frowned, and when Kenny extended a hand toward him, apprehension filled him. He had a sinking feeling that this year was definitely going to be eventful. And.. Not in the way Kenny was hoping. Gooseflesh prickled across his arms at the foreboding feeling he couldn’t explain, and the outstretched hand was inexplicably ominous.

After a moment’s hesitation, he looked up at Kenny’s glittering indigo eyes and reassuring smile, and, offering an uncertain smile in return, he swallowed the negativity clouding his mind and took his hand, shaking gently.

“Deal.” 


End file.
